by Jones, Rick
As the Egyptian king led his league of soldiers toward the Temple, the color of the morning sky was no longer red, but blue, with towering pillars of black smoke reaching skyward toward the emerging new-day sun. Jerusalem was burning.
The Temple Mount was exquisite, even by Shishak’s standards who ultimately respected Egyptian architecture. The Temple itself was a massive complex of stone arches and monumental columns. The towering walkways and wide staircases that took worshippers to grand hallways that seemed endless mesmerized Shishak to the point where he felt somewhat remorseful in defeating a city so rich in the complexity of its structure and beauty. At one point he even considered imbibing this architectural culture into his. But then he quickly dismissed the notion, sensing that this culture would only tend to belittle Egyptian sophistication.
Once at the Holy Temple, Shishak remained upon his horse for a long moment before getting off his steed, placed his hands against the door as if to learn the secrets within through osmosis, then gestured for his troops to knock it down.
It took nearly an hour, but the door was destroyed, the wood lying in splintered pieces, the opening giving way to a dark passageway that led to the depths beneath the Temple Mount.
With his torch ablaze, Darius moved toward the darkness with his light piercing little of the descending stairway. “The Chamber lies deep,” he told Shishak. “We’ll need many to carry the treasures, especially the Ark.”
“The Ark is first and foremost,” he said. “Make sure great caution is taken.”
“Aye.”
They descended slowly with several torches lighting the way, the stairs well maintained. Once at the bottom they noticed the dust-laden floor, which seemed odd when the rest of the complex was immaculate, especially for a place of great worship. As they entered the Chamber they were awed by the vastness of wealth, which was far more considerable than they originally thought. Lined against the walls were the Shields of Solomon, a pillager’s dream. And throughout lay conical-shaped mounds of gold coins as well as gems of every size, of every color and shape. Yet they did not appear opulent or bright. The color of gold was instead muted, the shine hindered by heavy dust that continued to eddy in the air.
Shishak moved to the center of the room. The space was empty. “Where is the Ark, Darius? You said it would be in the room’s center.”
Darius made his way beside him. “They moved it,” he said. ”There isn’t an open spot within this whole Chamber, except for this area.”
“If that was so,” said Shishak, “then there would be evidence that something was recently moved, yet the floor remains heavy with dust without a hint that something was ever here at all.” Shishak took a few steps to his left and lifted a golden pot of manna. The ground beneath it was clear of dust, the evidence that the pot was there while dust gathered around its base prominent, his point made. He tossed the pot aside. “It was never here,” he finally said. “Grab everything and make ready for transport. These treasures should be residing in a temple of a true god.”
“Aye.”
“And, Darius?”
“Aye.”
“If one soldier steals a single coin, I want you to execute him on the spot and make an example of him to the others. And especially watch the Sukkites. Mercenaries seem to have a weakness for profit that is not their own.”
“Aye.”
As the treasures were being gathered, Shishak wondered what happened to the Ark, never realizing that it was less than one hundred meters from where he stood.
CHAPTER ONE
Near the Temple Mount, Jerusalem, Present Day
Adham al-Ghazi had been searching for the Ark of the Covenant for several years, reading every written piece of work regarding its whereabouts and exploring the true possibility of its existence. He had gone to the Sanctuary Chapel in Saint Mary of Zion's Church in Axum, Ethiopia, only to find the Ark to be a duplicate. He also traveled to Elephantine, Egypt, and to locales throughout the Arab world only to uncover replicas ranging from the poorly fabricated to adequate imitations.
The last remaining location to excavate lay beneath the Temple Mount in Jerusalem, which had been declared by Israeli and Arab factions as their sovereign territory. But in reality it remained a region in limbo since the United States refused to acknowledge the land as strictly Israel’s, even though it remained under their control.
For over a year al-Ghazi had quietly worked his way beneath Jerusalem by stitch-boring a lengthy tunnel. And though the process was quiet, it was still vulnerable to detection. With acquired and detailed notes and possible GPS coordinates acquired from Iranian intelligence, he spent many long nights calculating within certainty the Chamber’s precise location.
Once they had drilled to within one hundred yards of the location, and in fear of alerting the Israelis by the vibrations meted out by the drills, they labored tediously with pickaxes and shovels from that point on, the momentum becoming glacially slow.
However, al-Ghazi’s patience would soon prove to be fruitful.
Day after day and night after night the pickaxes swung. And al-Ghazi watched as his hands never touched an instrument of labor. After all, he was a high-ranking lieutenant with al-Qaeda.
He had been involved with planning several attacks against Israeli and American objectives, as well as anyone associated with either faction. Prior to Bin Laden’s assassination in Pakistan, he had been asked by the former leader to plan out and head the excavation for the Ark. For what reason he didn’t know, nor did he dare ask questions.
The man was tall and lean, wearing clothes that were always immaculately clean and pressed, even within the tunnels where dirt seemed to constantly flow through the air, but somehow repelled by the man who never seemed to get dirty or sweat. His face was thin, his beard meticulously shaped, and his eyes appeared dark and moody and filled with a quiet intensity. However, he was patient to the core, which was a deadly concoction when mixed with a black desire to kill for a cause.
Standing over a table bearing maps and compasses, the air around him cloyingly thick and hot, the chamber beneath the ground in which he stood lit only by a string of bulbs that offered feeble lighting at best, he seemed unaffected as he studied the details of the mapped progress. Lines had been drawn in red, noting that they were nearing the Temple Mount. With the progress using pickaxes, he considered at best another two to three months if they worked around the clock.
The man clenched his jaw, the muscles working. It was the only sign of his impatience, thus far.
A worker, skinny and dirty with the grime of earth, entered the chamber with a pickaxe in hand, his breathing labored. From his point of view al-Ghazi seemed more like a shadow in the dim light. “Commander, we broke through.”
Al-Ghazi raised a brow in reservation. “Impossible,” he said. “We still have thirty meters to go.”
The man nodded. “We found a chamber.”
Al-Ghazi ran a finger over the charts and numbers. There was no way his configuration was incorrect. If there was an adjoining chamber, then it was not within the schematics provided.
“Have you looked inside?” he finally asked.
The laborer nodded. “The light would only penetrate so deep. But the area appears large.” The man bowed his head in homage to al-Ghazi. “We thought it would be better if you entered first, since the glory of the discovery is yours.”
When al-Ghazi passed the man he gave him a pat upon the shoulder. “You considered well, my friend.”
The tunnel leading to the opening in the wall was well bored, the walls rough, but enough space to move freely about without bending at the waist. Once at the passageway, the other laborers gave him a wide berth.
A laborer then handed him a heavy-duty flashlight that had the advertised capacity of lighting an area with the same power as 10,000 candles. Yet it was incapable of penetrating deep into the cavern.
“It’s definitely a hollow chamber,” he said. “But it’s not the Chamber.”
With guarded prudence al-Ghazi entered the room with his flashlight scoping the area and the immediate ground in front of him.
Pressing on he noted a glint of light—a spangle of gold—from the corner of his eye before it winked out and disappeared. Adjusting the flashlight to the source of the glitter it cast upon something not quite decipherable in the darkness. Whatever it was lay just beyond the light’s fringe, but a form nonetheless.
As he moved closer the flashlight began to give the artifact shape, contour and clarity. And in an instant he knew he had finally found the true Ark of the Covenant.
He had read all the ancient tablets, texts and scrolls pertaining to the whereabouts of the Ark, as well as the Bible and Quran only to find the locations documented by witnesses who had most likely seen replicas and duplicates. But never was there any mention of a room connected to the main chamber beneath the Temple Mount. And since the room did not exist by historical reference, al-Ghazi concluded that the true Ark was never meant to be found. By the luck of Allah, he found it by serendipity.
The Arab moved closer, the Ark dulled by years of collecting dust, but pure in essence. With his flashlight he moved its beam over the Ark and along its base, noting the skeletal remains of the Ark’s Keepers. For 3000 years the cloth of their robes degenerated, leaving nothing but swatches of fabric awkwardly entwined around bone. And for 3000 years their secret was safe.
Until now, he thought.
Lifting a hand to the Ark, he let his fingers graze softly over the wings of the cherubim figures and smiled. To touch the Ark was certain death, which was chronicled in just about every written piece of document in existence. But here he was, a hand gliding over the actual Ark of the Covenant sensing no heat, no cold, nor a static charge of electricity. It was simply gold and nothing more than a vintage scarecrow that kept the masses in line and their blind faith intact. Or so he believed. Nevertheless, such a treasure would harbor more than just faith and hope. It would soon hold death and darkness.
“Remove the cap,” he ordered.
Four men that looked as if they had mined for days without bathing, their bodies shining with sweat and grime, carefully pushed the cap to one side, then lifted it and gingerly placed the lid on the ground between the skeletal remains of two Keepers.
Inside the Ark lay more treasures.
Lying untouched for three millennia were four items: a gold pot filled with the dust of something having perished over time; the staff belonging to Aaron, the brother of Moses; and two stone tablets written in the language of Adam, the Ten Commandments.
Even though he was a non-believer, al-Ghazi seemed awed by the discovery in what appeared to be reverence.
With a great measure of prudence al-Ghazi lifted one of the tablets, the writing well preserved, and traced his fingers over the engraved words.
“Written by the fingers of God,” he commented softly to no one in particular. And then he returned the tablet to the Ark with the same care of laying a baby within its crib. “We’ll take the tablets,” he added. “But leave the staff and the golden pot as proof to the Israelis that the Ark has been discovered and that we’re in possession of it. And be careful transporting it!”
Bowing their heads in acknowledgment, the miners removed the original poles, which had become brittle and flaked when touched, and replaced them with metal rods.
Within the hour the Ark was removed from the chamber with the staff of Aaron and the golden pot left behind, and loaded onto the back of a canvassed truck more than a mile beyond the Temple Mount.
As the truck carried away the item fully covered in cloth, al-Ghazi got on an untraceable satellite phone and dialed a number locked into its memory. Within three chimes al-Zawahiri answered, once a conduit to Bin Laden, who asked al-Ghazi if Allah smiled down upon him on this day.
Al-Ghazi was as giddy as a child who could hardly contain himself, but forced the issue that he was a soldier and needed to act accordingly, which meant stoically. “By the graces of Allah, we have found the Ark,” he said.
“But is it the true Ark?”
“No doubt,” he returned. “It was right under the noses of the Israelis all the time in an uncharted chamber. By the will of Allah, it was meant to fall into our hands.”
“Good job, Adham. The principals will be pleased now that our efforts have paid off and our patience soon to be rewarded.”
“Just to let you know, my friend, we’re returning to the base with the cargo.”
Al-Zawahiri seemed pleased. “Then I’ll notify the rest of our constituencies and inform them of your success.” he said. “And continue on with the next stage.”
Al-Ghazi took in a breath of the hot desert air and relished it, like something intoxicating, then released it in a very long and soothing sigh. Closing his eyes, he bid al-Zawahiri the blessings of Allah and terminated the call.
CHAPTER TWO
Jerusalem, Beneath the Temple Mount.
Yitzhak Paled was the head of Mossad’s Lohamah Psichlogit, which was the unit responsible for psychological warfare, propaganda, and deception operations within the Agency. Although a slight man who was thinly built, he was still lean and firm and without any mannerisms other than what he relayed to others: and that he was not to be challenged in any way.
Standing in the second chamber beneath the Temple Mount, several lights erected on poles and cables lit the area brilliantly. Surrounding the center platform where the staff of Aaron and the gold pot lay, were the nine Keepers of the Ark, their bones brown with the coffee-like stains of aged calcium.
Standing next to the platform, while others worked around him, Paled stood with a hand to his chin in deep thought.
There was no doubt in his mind that the Ark in question was the true Ark for the simple fact that neither he, nor the Israeli government, knew of this chamber. Nor had it been recorded in any text.
In fact, the Ark of the Covenant had been beneath them all this time. The Keepers testament to that since the other arks throughout northern Africa had already been established as fakes, phonies or duplicates.
How the Arabs intercepted it was beyond him. More so, Paled was livid that Mossad Intelligence was handed a direct message from the Arabs stating that they were in custody of the Ark, and that the proof lie at the Israeli’s feet. He took it as a slap in the face, a one-up-on-you type of gesture on the part of the Arab world.
But why would the Arab state go so far to secure the Ark in the manner that they did? How could they have possibly known its location?
As the staff of Aaron lay on the platform, there was no doubt in Paled’s mind that Carbon-14 testing on the rod and the bones would prove to be at least 3000 years old, if not older.
Once more he asked: Why?
Contemplating, Paled appeared lost, wondering what the Arabs had in mind. Obviously they had taken the Ark for a specific purpose. But the reason eluded him.
Could it have been for money? he considered. Or perhaps for ransom, in order to fund terrorist groups or activities?
Of course these were the logical ideas that immediately came to mind.
And there was another consideration. The Ark could be used to turn any situation into a hot-button issue between religious denominations who felt entitled to its possession, which would cause tempers to flare if they were so denied.
The Jews, the Catholics, the Muslims—they all had a rightful stake.
Paled continued to rub his chin while the bones of the Keepers were carefully gathered by Company men. No matter how careful the workers were, a femur or rib snapped due to the severity of their brittleness. And then in reverence, the staff of Aaron was taken and placed into a metal lockbox and sealed. It was, without a doubt, a truly magnificent treasure.
But the biggest treasure was the Ark and the tablets within.
“We’re almost done,” said Jacob, a minor player in the Lohamah Psichlogit.
Paled tried to make a logical determination for the theft before turning to Jacob with a questio
ning look. “Why take the Ark and leave behind the staff?”
Jacob shrugged. “For ransom?”
Paled shook his head. “It goes beyond that,” he said. “I believe they have something else in mind.”
Jacob took a step forward and noted the bare spots where the legs of the Ark sat on the platform, where the dust gathered around them for 3000 years. “Primary guesses?”
“Some,” he answered. “But as a member of the Lohamah Psichlogit who sees things in a perspective where psychological warfare, propaganda and operations of deception are a function, I believe they’ll use the Ark as a weapon of some kind, psychological or otherwise.” He took a step closer to the platform. “Tell me, Jacob . . . What do you see?”
Jacob hesitated, musing. “I see the Arabs using our own game against us,” he said.
Paled nodded. “And should they play the game well enough . . .” he said, his words trailing off. Then they could incite a war like no other . . .
. . . and destroy us all.
CHAPTER THREE
Vatican City, Very Early Morning
Pope Gregory XVII thought he had seen a fleeting shadow dart across the Papal Chamber from the corner of his eye.
The room was dark, the corners and recesses even darker with scant lighting from the moon coming in through the open doors that led to the balcony. A marginal breeze blew in from the west, causing the hemlines of the scalloped drapery to wave in poetic motion that was slow and balanced, as if the entire moment was caught up in a surreal dream. And though he could feel a cool and gentle breeze sweeping into the room and touch his flesh, his mind remained fevered and hot, perhaps the illness drawing the illusion that somebody else was in the room with him.
Nevertheless, the pontiff called out, his voice cracked and feeble: “Is somebody there?”
Silence.
