by Sean Ellis
* * *
From the moment he escaped into the jungle, Kismet had operated under the assumption that the Sultan’s pronouncement of his death sentence ought to be taken at face value. As the sovereign ruler of the tiny kingdom, the man quite literally had the authority to call for a summary execution, and no amount of legal posturing would prevent a dutiful palace guard from carrying out the order. It was of course entirely possible that the facts of the matter had come to light but he wasn’t about to risk exposure until he was certain of it.
His decision to return to the ship had been more a matter of convenience than a thoughtfully arrived at strategy. Escaping from Borneo by any other means would have meant days of hardship and fugitive wandering through one of the most untamed places on Earth. In contrast, the cruise ship was a bastion of twenty-first century technology where he would quickly be able to affirm his innocence and arrange asylum should the worst-case scenario play out. It also seemed like the last place anyone would think to look for him.
From the helipad, he made his way into the ship proper, ducking into one of the common rooms where he made a mostly futile attempt to brush away the stains and wrinkles that permanently marred the fabric of his dinner jacket. He considered stuffing the soiled garment in a refuse bin, but unfortunately he had left his shirt at Jin’s fortress, still wrapped around the grappling hook.
Although it was nominally a party-ship, the atmosphere aboard was restrained. Where only a day before, wealthy debutantes had wandered the decks with cocktails in hand, this night found the ship seemingly deserted. As if observing an informal curfew, the passengers had retired early, leaving only a scattering of crewmembers roaming the decks. With the aid of a convenient fire-escape route map, Kismet plotted a course to a nearby lounge, intent on quieting the ravenous beast in his belly and soothing his strained nerves with a drink. Upon entering the salon however, he stopped dead in his tracks.
The small dining area was adjacent to one of the antiquities exhibits, and the lounge looked like the headquarters of a paramilitary operation. No less than a dozen men in navy blue fatigues and black berets, openly wearing holstered automatic pistols, were scattered throughout the room. Almost as one, their eyes swung to greet this latecomer.
His hesitation was only momentary, but when he started into motion again, he felt their scrutiny slice through him like laser beams. He fought the impulse to turn and flee, and instead strode to the bar. If he was indeed on some kind of watch list, then it was already too late; no sense in wasting the opportunity for a final drink before being hauled off in irons. But a second glance as he slid into one of the swiveling chairs revealed that the security guards had lost interest in him. Kismet breathed a sigh of relief and nodded to the bartender. “Macallan, neat. Better make it a double.”
The server quickly decanted a large portion of Scotch Whisky into a tumbler and set it before him with a knowing smile. Kismet savored a mouthful of the peaty spirits then decided to press his luck a bit further. “This is kind of embarrassing, but I seem to have misplaced my key, and I can’t remember what my room number is.”
“No problem, sir.” He picked up a telephone and punched a three-digit code. “Name?”
Kismet tried to sound casual as he supplied the information, then took another sip of his drink while the bartender relayed the information. After a moment, he hung up and turned back to Kismet. “Good news. The purser will bring a replacement key card for you, straightaway.”
Kismet weighed the response and decided it concealed nothing sinister. “Thanks. Now, what are my chances of getting something to eat?”
* * *
Rather than wait at the bar for the purser’s arrival, Kismet took up his Scotch and wandered toward the entrance to the exhibit. If his fugitive crisis was indeed over, he was going to have to turn his attention back to the matter that had brought him here in the first place. Oddly enough, he found comfort in the thought, as if in so doing he might somehow delete the events of the past day from memory.
Yet something about the incident nagged at him, like a tiny sliver of metal lodged in the skin of his subconscious. He could still see it in his mind’s eye; a stone prism etched with tiny lines of cuneiform. Why had Jin’s pirates chosen that piece?
The prism was almost certainly one of the pieces looted from Iraq in the days leading up to the 2003 invasion that had ousted the regime of Saddam Hussein. Shortly thereafter, Kismet, in concert with French authorities, had raided the operation of a former Iraqi intelligence officer who had opened a pipeline of looted antiquities during the 1990’s to establish an alternate source of revenue to offset the crippling economic sanctions imposed by Western nations. The evidence gathered at the man’s villa in Nice indicated that more than a few items had found their way into the Sultan’s collection.
There was no denying that the piece had a reliable pedigree. The circumstances surrounding its removal from its country of origin might even have added to its value as a curiosity, but it remained just that: a curiosity. Kismet could not fathom why the pirates had elected to liberate it along with the other relics; had it simply been a target of opportunity?
The artifacts had been grouped according to country of origin, and as he neared the section which housed the art of Mesopotamia, he was dismayed to find that he was not alone in seeking out the prism.
The man was tall, and would have seemed gaunt if not for the luxurious silver mane that framed his angular face—a countenance that appeared too youthful for a man gone completely gray. His clothing was nondescript; the dark trousers and a blousy black shirt might have been the attire of an off duty waiter. His left hand held a notebook in which he was painstakingly copying lines from the prism, and the middle finger of his right, which held the pen, was adorned with a gaudy, gem-encrusted ring. Impulsively, Kismet tried to get a better look at the ring, and in so doing, drew attention to his presence. The tall man inclined his head in a polite nod, revealing eyes the color of gypsum, then returned to his labor.
“What’s it say?”
The scribe looked up, a faintly perturbed expression flickering across his features. Kismet smiled, hoping to put the man at ease, but saw no change in the gray eyes. He risked extending a hand to the man. “I’m Nick Kismet.”
The man's expression softened just a little, but he disdained the handclasp. When he spoke, his enunciation was precise, with just a hint of superciliousness but no discernible accent. “Dr. John Leeds, at your service.”
In the corner of his eye, Kismet saw a man wearing the common uniform of a ship’s steward enter the lounge. He felt an inexplicable compulsion to remain with the strange scholar, but the hunger and fatigue in his body argued that he should take his leave. “A pleasure making your acquaintance, doctor. Enjoy the cruise.”
“It is the Epic of Gilgamesh.”
The quiet voice froze Kismet in mid-step. He turned back. “I take it you’re not a physician, Dr. Leeds.”
The statement elicited a faint smile. “No. My field is comparative theology. I am also—if I may be so bold as to say it—an expert on mythology and the occult.”
“Thus your interest in one of the world's oldest fairy tales.”
Leeds laughed, but his icy eyes froze away any hint of mirth. “My interest is not purely academic. The quest of Gilgamesh is one that I happen to share.”
“As I recall, Gilgamesh was looking for the secret of immortality.”
“Even so.”
For a moment, Kismet could only stare in mute disbelief at the other man. When he at last found his voice, he averted his eyes, gazing instead at the amber contents of his glass. “Gilgamesh never found it. What makes you think it’s there to be found?”
“Actually, Gilgamesh did find it. In the legend, Uta-Napishtim, the only man to be given the gift of immortality, told Gilgamesh of a plant which could give him eternal life; a plant that grew at the bottom of the sea. Gilgamesh recovered the plant, only to lose it to a hungry serpent.”
“I stand corrected.” For some reason, Kismet got the distinct impression that Leeds didn’t think of the Epic as a fairy tale. “So do you think such a plant really existed?”
“Straight to the point, Mr. Kismet? What if it was that simple; eat the fruit of the Tree of Life, and live forever? Would you not do so in a heartbeat?”
Kismet was already regretting having asked, regretted having even introduced himself to Leeds in the first place, but something about the man—maybe it was his self-confessed quest for immortality, or maybe just the fact that Leeds came off as an arrogant bastard who needed to be taken down a notch—compelled Kismet to stay. “Who wouldn’t? But if such a plant, a Tree of Life, existed, someone would have found it by now.”
“And why do you believe no one has?”
Kismet contemplated the prism for a moment. “So this...the Epic of Gilgamesh is factual?”
Leeds smiled again, a humorless grin that lowered the temperature in the air-conditioned salon by several degrees. “Theologians cannot help but recognize the similarities between characters in the Epic, and those mentioned in the Bible. Gilgamesh is certainly Nimrod, the king who would be a god. Uta-Napishtim the immortal who survived the Great Flood, is Noah. Genesis also speaks of the Tree of Life in the Garden of Eden; doubtless the same plant Gilgamesh sought. Its placement at the bottom of the ocean would be an allusion to Eden being lost to the Flood.”
Kismet stroked his chin thoughtfully. He wasn’t a believer, but he knew enough about both theology and mythology to hold his own in the conversation. “Okay, I'll buy that. Of course, the Bible records Noah’s death, whereas Uta-Napishtim was supposed to be immortal.”
“Noah lived to be nearly a thousand years old; the longest any man lived after the Great Flood. His son Shem apparently possessed a similar gift of longevity. To the rest of the world, they would certainly seem immortal.”
“And it is your contention that they possessed some vestige of the Tree of Life from the Garden of Eden that kept them alive well beyond the limit of an ordinary life span?”
“Contention? Better to call it an hypothesis. I am a scientist Mr. Kismet, studying the religions of the world, ancient and modern, not so much to determine what is true, but to find the commonality that might educate us as to the origin of faith.”
Leeds flipped to the back of his notebook as he spoke, and Kismet realized that the thick leather bound volume was actually a Bible. “In the Western world, it is generally accepted that, if there is a religious truth, it is expressed in the Judeo-Christian belief system. Now, if we are to accept the Holy Scriptures as essentially factual—and that is a leap of faith which many in our modern society are no longer willing to make—then the account of Genesis proves unquestionably that the antediluvians lived to extraordinary ages. Adam, Methuselah and Noah himself, all lived to be nearly a thousand years of age. These accounts were not meant to be taken as allegory, as so many today want to believe; the language is very precise. Those men living before the Great Flood had extraordinarily long life spans. What changed?
“The answer is here. Genesis chapter two: 'And a river went out of Eden to water the garden; and from thence it was parted, and became into four heads.'“
Leeds looked up from the pages and watched for a reaction, but Kismet could only shake his head. “I'm not sure I follow you.”
“The rivers that issued out of Eden, the garden of life, were likely imbued with the properties of the Tree of Life, mentioned here in verse nine: 'the Tree of Life also in the midst of the garden.' Adam and Eve were not permitted to eat of the fruit of that tree. They were expelled from the garden for their transgression and barred from entering by the cherubs and the blade of a flaming sword. Nevertheless, the life-giving properties of the Tree of Life flowed out of Eden in the waters of those rivers; diluted to be sure, but still potent enough to enable those men to live to extraordinary ages.”
“Then the Flood came and washed it all away,” continued Kismet, making no effort to limit the skepticism in his tone. “So how did Noah and Shem manage to live on for so long afterward?”
“One explanation would be that both were born into the antediluvian world; both would have tasted the waters of life. But I postulate a different theory.
“Noah was certainly the favored of God, even as Uta-Napishtim was in the Epic of Gilgamesh. I believe that Noah may have carried pieces of the Tree, perhaps its fruit, plucked from the river waters before the Flood. He would have given these powerful items to his sons Japheth and Shem, though not to Ham, the accursed progenitor of the Negro race.”
Kismet winced at the unexpected diatribe. He was liking Leeds less as the conversation progressed.
“Nimrod,” continued Leeds, “was a descendant of Ham, and likely coveted the gift that Noah had passed to his superior offspring. Perhaps the quest of Gilgamesh is an allegory describing Nimrod's desire to seize that power from the children of his grandfather's brothers.”
“Sounds like you’ve got it all figured out.”
“There is much more evidence to support my claim.”
Kismet wanted to leave; wanted to be away from the odious Dr. Leeds as much as he wanted to take refuge in his stateroom, but the unequivocal assertion held him rooted in place. “Evidence?”
“Earlier you asked why no one else had ever discovered the secret of immortality. In fact, an eighteenth century French nobleman, the Comte de Saint-Germain, reputedly discovered the secret of immortality in a substance he called ‘the Philosopher's Stone’.”
“I’ve heard the story,” Kismet replied warily. “Various charlatans throughout history have claimed to be Saint-Germain, Cagliostro, the alchemist Nicholas Flamel...snake oil salesmen, one an all.”
“Are you so sure that they were charlatans? If Noah or Methuselah could live to be nine hundred years old, why not these men?”
Kismet shrugged. He silently admonished himself for not having made his escape sooner. What he had first mistaken for charisma was, it seemed, just the persuasive passion of a crank. “Those stories failed to convince me then, and nothing I have heard here convinces me now.”
“Then consider a different tale.” Leeds gestured with the Bible. “Have you ever heard of the Sacred Heart of Jesus Christ?”
“Aside from the fact that hundreds of churches, schools and hospitals are named for it, not really.”
“The Devotion of the Sacred Heart is a liturgy found in the catechism, though it is not explicitly mentioned in scripture. The doctrine itself has more to do with the symbolism of Christ's love for mankind, a love so passionate that it caused his heart to glow visibly in his chest.
“In the subtext of this tale however, I see yet another clue in the puzzle of the quest for immortality. There is a tradition among the Gnostics, who were in fact among the earliest of Christ's followers, and never accepted the pollution of the Roman church, that Jesus was in fact one of the Magi; a class of Rabbis devoted to studying the Kabbalah. During the forty days and nights, which Christ spent in the wilderness, he learned the secret of unlocking the powers hidden in the language of the Torah. I believe that he also found something else.
“Another supposition of scholars is that Shem, the son of Noah, was also Melchizedek, King of Salem, and there is no mention of Melchizedek’s death in the scriptures; in fact, St. Paul alluded to Melchizedek's immortality in the Epistle to the Hebrews. It is my belief that Melchizedek bequeathed his vestige of the Tree of Life to Jesus Christ during the forty days of his meditation, and the Christ in turn used the knowledge of the Magi to incorporate it into his own flesh, making it one with his own heart.”
“That is an interesting way of skewing the scriptures,” remarked Kismet. “But it doesn't really support your idea of eternal life. Jesus didn't exactly survive to a ripe old age.”
“Only because he was slain. And yet death could not hold him, for he rose three days later, as an eternal spirit.” Through his discussion, Leeds’ voice remained calm, never betraying the passions he
evidently harbored on the subject. “Notice however the particulars of his crucifixion, mentioned in the Gospel of St. John: 'But one of the soldiers with a spear pierced his side, and forthwith came there out blood and water.' The spear of the centurion Gaius Longinus pierced the heart of Jesus. When that happened, the heavens darkened and the earth shook. The gospel of St. Matthew says that tombs were opened and the dead came to life. Imagine the power that was released when the Sacred Heart was pierced. The spear of the centurion became a powerful talisman, as did the chalice in which Joseph of Arimathea collected the heart-blood of Christ. Longinus himself received the gift of immortal life.”
“I have heard those legends as well; the Spear of Destiny and the Holy Grail. I seem to recall that Longinus viewed his immortality as a curse.”
“Only because of his guilt for having slain the Christ. He doubtless wished to kill himself, even as Judas the betrayer did, but he was denied the release of suicide.”
Kismet shook his head, as if clearing away cobwebs. “Okay, so Jesus’ powers to heal, raise the dead and everything else came from his possession of some magic fruit. We'll sidestep the fact that about every Christian on the planet would view that as blasphemy. How exactly is that going to lead you to the secret of immortality? You said it yourself: the Sacred Heart of Christ was destroyed when he was killed.”
“True, but remember what I said earlier. Noah passed his gift on to Japheth also. There were at least two, and perhaps many more pieces of the Tree of Life. I believe they were seeds that survived the Great Flood. Shem, who later became Melchizedek, had the one which eventually became the possession of Christ and made possible his transcendence of the flesh. Japheth also took possession of one of the seeds, and I believe that this is the one which Nimrod, or Gilgamesh sought and eventually captured.”
