The Solomon Scroll

by Alex Lukeman

  Dov, on the other hand, was the essence of an officer in a modern army which preferred Tavor assault rifles to swords and spears. His eyes were blue, the result of some unknown European ancestor. His looks were marred by a patchwork of scars where plastic surgery had repaired burns on the side of his face. It gave him a dangerous look. He was a reasonable man except when confronted with someone he believed to be an enemy. For Dov there were many enemies but he reserved special hatred for the Arabs.

  Four years before he'd been vacationing with his wife and child at Eilat when an Arab terrorist decided it was time to martyr himself for the cause. Dov had survived. His wife Hannah and his daughter had not. As far as the Arabs were concerned, Dov had no interest in either forgiving or forgetting.

  "Take a walk with me to the canteen, Dov," Cohen said. "It's too damn hot to be sitting in these offices."

  "I could use something cold. Let me secure this."

  Dov got up and went to a safe, opened it and placed the report inside. He closed the heavy door and spun the dial.

  "That the report on the scrolls?"

  "Yes," Dov said.

  "This one is going to be tricky."

  "They all are."

  "We have to follow up on this."

  "I don't need to be convinced. If this tomb exists and if it's in Saudi territory, we have to find it before they do."

  "The word is out about what that Italian discovered," Cohen said. "I'd be surprised if the Arabs didn't know about it. Certainly the Americans."

  "That would be a safe assumption," Dov said. "We should try and find out what they know."

  "I put in a request. Relations have been strained with Washington," Cohen said. "I'm not sure if they'll tell us anything. Not that they usually do."

  They came to the canteen, went in and ordered iced drinks. They took a seat in the corner, away from the few others in the room.

  "Have you had time to think about it yet?" Cohen asked.

  "I only got the report an hour ago," Dov said.

  Cohen waited.

  "The murder of the Italian and the explosion in the train. They're obviously related. Then a second scroll taken from the British Museum and another murder. Who did it? Whoever it was has got the scrolls, would you agree?"

  "I would."

  "I don't know what their agenda is but it can't be any good for us."

  "You have any ideas?" Cohen made circles on the table with the condensation from his glass.

  "Has anyone analyzed the explosive used on the train?"

  "Yes. It was Semtex, manufactured during the Bosnian war. There's plenty of it on the black market. Some of it has been showing up lately in the bombings."

  Dov heard bombings. Cohen's words blurred with the sound of the ceiling fan over their table. Memory flooded in.

  He's walking in the market with Hannah and Rebeka. It's a beautiful day and the market is crowded. People are in a good mood. Rebeka is holding a strawberry ice and trying not to get the melting drops on her school outfit. Music from street musicians floats in the air. Hannah points at a stall selling bolts of cloth.

  "I want to look at that one," she says. "The color is perfect for a new tablecloth."

  They are standing next to a stall selling small tanks of propane. She looks at him and smiles, her face full of love. They start toward the cloth stall. From the corner of his eye, he sees a man suddenly stand still in the midst of the crowd flowing around him. He's an Arab, out of place in this market. Something sounds an alarm in Dov's mind. It's too late. The man reaches under his robe and everything disappears in flame and heat and noise. The shockwave knocks him to the ground. The propane tanks nearby erupt in violent flame that scorches over him, over Hannah, over Rebeka, over the crowd. He sees the blistered bodies of his wife and child lying unmoving on the pavement before he fades into unconsciousness.

  "Dov? You okay?"

  Colonel Cohen's voice brought him back.

  "Sorry."

  Cohen sighed. "You were remembering, weren't you?"

  "Yes. It was when you mentioned the bombings."

  "Have you been seeing someone about it?"

  "I'm fine, don't worry about it." He shook off the heavy feeling that always accompanied the flashback. "We were talking about the Semtex. Are there any leads on who supplied it?"

  Cohen decided to let it go. "Not yet. If there is one, it will turn up." He paused. "You're going to have to look for that tomb."

  "Yes, sir. I'll put the mission together."

  "I don't need to tell you that the Arabs will shit a brick if they catch you."

  "They won't catch us," Dov said. "If they get lucky and do, they'll wish they hadn't."

  CHAPTER 31

  The modified UH-60 Blackhawk spiriting the team through the night and into the Habala Valley wasn't like any chopper Nick had ever seen. It was a product of the Sikorsky skunk works, funded by DARPA, the Pentagon's secret weapons development program. The exterior shape of the bird resembled a machinist's experiment with origami, flat surfaces covered with dark, molded fabric and set at odd angles to each other. The tail rotor was shrouded in a disk like cover. It was so quiet Nick could forget it was there. He'd never been in a helicopter as quiet as this one. A high-class ride, as choppers went. All that was missing were soft leather seats, drinks and music playing in the background.

  Slipping through the Saudi air defenses presented little difficulty. They crossed into the kingdom flying low and fast. The pilot set them down on the valley floor, not far from their objective. They were out of the bird with their gear and on the ground in seconds.

  They watched their only connection to home and safety speed off into the darkness, a black shape against a black sky lit with millions of stars. The starlight was bright enough to make out peaks rising on either side of the valley. The mountains weren't much more than three thousand feet high but they were rugged, steep and inhospitable. It was a harsh, sandy land.

  It was cold now. When the sun rose the temperature would climb to well over a hundred.

  "Lock and load," Nick said.

  They were traveling light, rations for three days and six thirty round magazines of ammo, plus four magazines each for their sidearms. Each of them carried an MP-5 chambered for the same .40 caliber round as their pistols. They charged the weapons. The metallic sounds echoed in the still night air.

  "Quiet, isn't it," Diego said. "Peaceful."

  "Let's hope it stays that way."

  Nick activated the satellite comm link. They could all hear what was said.

  "Base, this is One."

  In Virginia, Elizabeth had been waiting. She heard Nick's voice, loud and clear. Eggleston had done his job.

  One less worry, she thought.

  "One, copy," she said. "What's your status?"

  "Down and good. Moving out now. One, out." Nick signed off.

  "It will be light soon." He looked at his GPS and pointed. "That way. Let's go."

  He set off at a fast walk. The others strung out behind him, leaving space between. One of the first things Selena had learned in the field with Nick was to avoid bunching up in hostile territory. By now it was second nature to her.

  The GPS guided them away from the easy path of the ancient riverbed that formed the valley floor. The ground rose in a steep slope covered with thick clumps of juniper and scattered trees. Above them, the three pillars of rock Ephram had described on the scroll loomed against a predawn sky.

  They pushed up the slope. It was hard going, through tough branches and prickly leaves that caught on their clothes and scratched at them. The sun was breaking the horizon in the east when they reached the base of the first pillar.

  "It will be full light soon," Nick said. "Let's move in between the rocks."

  "Isn't this place some kind of tourist attraction?" Selena asked.

  "Not much of one. In the winter, maybe, when it's cooler. I don't think we're going to see any tourists."

  "Sure, but the locals must've been thro
ugh here a lot since that scroll was written," Diego said. "If that tomb is here, how come nobody found it?"

  "I don't know. We still have to look for it. Makes sense that any entrance would be so well hidden no one would pay attention if they were looking right at it."

  "By now it's probably covered over by these damn bushes," Ronnie said.

  They made their way into the center of the three pillars. The formation formed a flat, rough circle dotted with more junipers and trees. There were animal tracks, winding trails in the greenery. In a firefight, the place would be a death trap.

  "This sucks," Diego said.

  Selena saw something on her sleeve. She made a face and plucked it off. "Ticks. The place is full of ticks."

  "Great," Nick said. "Probably venomous spiders as well. Scorpions too. The brown ones will hurt like hell. The black ones will kill you. This is high desert. Make sure you're bloused up good and tight."

  "Snakes?" Selena asked. "Are there snakes?"

  "Yes. Several poisonous ones, vipers. They're deadly, so watch where you walk or sit. Don't stick your hand where you can't see it."

  "Now you tell me. This place must give Hell a run for its money."

  "I didn't want to freak you out," Nick said.

  "I wouldn't talk if I were you," Selena said. "Spiders and snakes get to you as much as they do me."

  "I hate spiders," Diego said.

  "They're afraid of people," Ronnie said. "They'll hear us coming and get out of the way."

  "Like that big one on your foot?"

  "Whaa!"

  Ronnie jumped to the side.

  Diego started laughing and the others joined in.

  "Very funny," Ronnie said. "I'll remember that."

  As the sun rose, the morning light revealed a place of desolate beauty. It was already getting hot. The pillars rose tall into the air. They were composed of reddish stone and reminded Nick of Utah.

  They found a place near one of the pillars with only a scattering of vegetation and stopped to look around. Outcrops of granite poked through the dry, sand colored ground. There were flat rocks everywhere, perfect hiding places for the deadly wildlife that lived here. The top of the hill would make a great location for a nature special on public television. Nick could have done without it

  "How do you want to do it?" Ronnie asked. "Spread out or stay together?"

  "I think we should stay together. This place isn't so big that we need to fan out. Keep a few feet apart."

  "Do you think Ephram would have buried it?" Selena asked. "It looks like it's solid rock underneath the surface dirt."

  "I don't think so," Nick said. "Look for a natural crevice, something they could use to hollow out a hiding place. It's what I'd do. Then I'd seal it up with rocks and dirt. In a year or two you'd never know anyone had ever been there. There weren't many people in this area back then."

  Elizabeth's voice crackled through the comm link.

  "One, you copy?"

  "Copy."

  "Al-Bayati is on the move. He boarded a plane in Beirut an hour ago with a flight plan for Yemen. He's headed your way."

  "How long till he gets here?"

  "Sometime in the afternoon your time. It depends on what he's using for transportation and whether or not he gets hung up at the border."

  "He'll have a way to cross or he wouldn't be coming."

  "Any luck?"

  "Not yet. We're just beginning to look."

  "Keep me posted. Out."

  "Company coming," Nick said.

  "We'll make sure he gets a nice welcome," Ronnie said.

  CHAPTER 32

  Addison Rhoades leaned back in the comfortable lounge seat of Al-Bayati's private jet and closed his eyes. It had been a while since he'd taken one of the foil wrapped balls. His body hummed and vibrated, out of harmony with the steady pulse of the engines. He felt like a guitar string tuned too tight, ready to snap if plucked. He'd taken a tablet of morphine half an hour before. Now he waited for the drug to kick in and take the edge off the unpleasant sensations.

  It was no use, he had to sit up and do something, distract himself. He reached down into his travel bag and took out a cleaning kit. He pulled a Glock GP27 from his shoulder holster and laid it on the coffee table in front of his seat. Along with the Walther PPK the Glock was his favorite pistol, compact and powerful. It was meant for up close and personal, where almost all gunfights with pistols took place. Unloaded it weighed less than 20 ounces. He field stripped the weapon and started to clean it.

  The morphine kicked in and his body relaxed. Rhoades took a deep breath and felt his mood improve. The smell of gun oil and cleaner was familiar, the ritual soothing. He'd always liked guns. They were reliable if you took care of them, unlike people. With a good gun you knew what to expect.

  They'd land in Yemen near the Saudi border within the hour. Al-Bayati's connections meant no problems with the authorities. Men loyal to Rhoades would be waiting with vehicles at the landing strip. From there it was a few hours overland to their objective in the Habala Valley.

  The tomb of Solomon and Al-Bayati's lunatic dream of a magic ring.

  Rhoades didn't care about a ring. He cared about gold. If the tomb was there, Al-Bayati would never leave it. Rhoades had made up his mind that it was time to move on. As soon as they found the gold he would kill Al-Bayati. Until they found it he needed him alive.

  He finished cleaning the pistol, reassembled it and placed it back in the holster. He packed the cleaning kit away as the plane began its descent to the barren desert landscape below and an abandoned military airbase close to the Saudi border. Al-Bayati had no intention of flying into Saana and dealing with the Houthi rebels in control of the city. Ten minutes later they were on the ground. A cluster of vehicles waited on the side of the runway.

  The sun beat down on Bayati as he stood on the cracked concrete at the foot of the airplane stairs. He wiped his brow with a silk handkerchief.

  "Hot," he said. "I'd forgotten how hot this godforsaken place can be."

  "With luck we won't be here long," Rhoades said. "Here comes our escort."

  Three Land Rovers painted desert tan pulled up by the plane, followed by two Toyota pickup trucks with Russian Kord heavy machine guns mounted in the beds. A third truck was empty, backup for transporting whatever they might find.

  The Kord 12.7 mm was a recent addition to Russian infantry armament, replacing the older NSV that had been the staple weapon for years. It featured a higher rate of fire than the NSV. An alloy barrel that increased accuracy and effectiveness up to about 2000 meters. It wasn't a good idea to be on the wrong end of one of them when it was in use.

  Al-Bayati appreciated fine weapons. He looked at Rhoades.

  "Kords. I'm impressed. You think we'll need them?"

  "There's been a lot of rebel activity around here," Rhoades said. "I thought a little extra firepower wouldn't hurt. The men are all experienced and well armed. No one will bother us if they know what's good for them."

  Al-Bayati grunted and heaved his bulk into one of the Land Rovers. Rhoades got into the back seat. He took out his GPS, already programmed with the location of the three pillars.

  "We'll use the old crossing," he said to the driver. "The one abandoned by the British. You know the one I mean?"

  "I know it. Rough road," the driver said.

  His name was Jan Vorster. He was a fourth generation Afrikaner, a grizzled former policeman who'd gotten out of the Republic of South Africa when apartheid crumbled. His talents for violence had turned out to be useful in his new role as mercenary. It paid better, too. Rhoades had met him during an MI6 operation in Darfur. As far as he could tell Vorster was the ideal soldier for hire, a man without bothersome moral considerations or qualms of conscience about what might have to be done.

  "Watch out for patrols," Rhoades said.

  The six vehicles set out for Saudi Arabia.

  CHAPTER 33

  On top of the hill it felt like being inside an ov
en. Rippling waves of heat rose from the rocks and sand. They'd searched for a sign of the tomb and found nothing. Now they were going around the columns once more. Nick had decided that the whole exercise was a waste of time and was ready to concede defeat. Their desert camouflage uniforms were soaked black with sweat. Selena moved with the others around the base of one of the pillars. Suddenly she froze.

  "Snake."

  Nick looked where she was pointing. The snake was curled up on a flat rock next to the column, within striking distance from where she stood. It was a yellow, sandy color, with a round snout and round cat eyes. Two horns stuck up from its head, giving it a demonic look. It raised its head and looked at her.

  "Don't move," Nick said. "That's a horned viper."

  He reached for his pistol. Ronnie laid a hand on his arm.

  "I'll get it," he said. "Better not to make the noise."

  He eased a throwing knife from a sheath strapped under his arm and launched it at the snake. The blade arced through the sunlight and buried itself behind the viper's head. The snake contorted, showing its fangs. Selena backed away.

  "Wouldn't be good to get bitten by one of those," Nick said. "It creates serious pain and a lot of damage. We're a long way from medical help for a viper bite."

  "Gee, thanks for reminding me."

  The snake stopped moving. Ronnie retrieved his knife.

  "That was slick," Diego said. "Too bad you had to kill it."

  "Selena was too close. It would have struck if she'd moved. Otherwise we could have left it."

  Selena stared at the column where the snake had been dozing.

  "There's something here."

  She pointed at a faint groove in the rock on the edge of a wide, vertical fissure climbing the side of the column. The fissure was hard to see, filled with a thick growth of juniper. There was no way to tell if it went deeper into the column or was simply a wide crack on the surface.

  "That mark could be man-made," she said.

  "Maybe," Nick said. "What would cause something like that?"