‘Topkapı archives. In a copy of Balinas’ Book of Causes.’
‘You know what it is, I presume?’
‘Yes. And there’s more.’ He opened the journal to the notes he’d taken in the Egyptian Museum. ‘I was led to an inscription in Cairo. It directs me towards the mountain where the moon god Sin was worshipped –’
‘Mt Sinai!’ Ethan interrupted.
‘Yes. But there’s a problem. The description has me heading north from the island of Jezirat Faraun.’
‘In the Gulf of Aqaba . . .’
‘Which means it can’t be Jebel Musa. Whichever Mt Sinai is hosting Balinas’ tomb, it isn’t the one in the Sinai Peninsula.’
‘The Negev!’ Ethan exclaimed. ‘I knew it! It’s what I’ve always said. I knew that’s where I’d find him. It was the only place that made sense.’
Ben flipped to the page where he’d transcribed the enigmatic mark that appeared in the book in Topkapı and which he’d found again in Kemerhisar and Cairo. ‘Does this mean anything to you?’
Ethan’s face blanched. He leapt to his feet and scrambled through a maze of cardboard boxes to a stack of artefact drawers set against the wall. He opened one and lifted out a storage container the size of a shoebox which he carried back and handed to Ben. ‘Open it,’ he said, voice quavering.
Lifting the lid, it took Ben’s eyes a moment to adjust in the late-afternoon light. It was Ben’s turn to be shocked. The box was full of flat, black stones, each of which had been roughly engraved with the same symbols in the enigmatic design Ben had been pursuing: a crescent moon, a sun, a staff and a snake. He lifted one out of the box and felt its cold, heavy weight in the palm of his hand. ‘Petroglyphs! Where’d they come from?’ he asked.
‘It’s a long story.’
‘I’ve nowhere else to be.’
‘Fine. We’ve known here in Israel about the Emerald Tablet and its power since the war. Here, nobody laughs at my obsession with alchemy. Not since Daniel Zable arrived here after escaping the camp at Dachau. He’s a physicist who was put to work in Himmler’s laboratories. The Nazis had learnt of the research of a man named Fulcanelli –’
‘I’ve heard about him,’ Ben interjected.
Ethan looked up, surprised. ‘Is that a fact? Well, you’ll know, then, about his findings relating to nuclear physics. When they saw the potential for transforming matter, the only thing the Nazi morons were interested in doing was working out how to make gold, of course. Which they did manage to do, in small quantities. But Daniel saw the potential of the research. Fulcanelli’s notes pointed him towards the Emerald Tablet. As for trying to find where the tablet itself is hidden – well, that’s what I’ve been trying to do. I knew from Balinas’ biography as written by Philostratus that I was looking for a cave . . . and everything I found pointed me in the direction of the Negev Desert.’ He leant over and took one of the stones out of the box on Ben’s lap. ‘So ever since 1948, along with their myriad other responsibilities, the Israeli Defence Force has been tasked with searching the desert for caves in the Negev and Jordanian territory. It’s become something of an initiation for the new troops – they call it the “run to red rock”. Much of what they bring back is useless. But these . . .’ he said, turning the petroglyph in his hand, ‘. . . I knew they were important the instant I saw them. And I was right.’
‘So where are they from?’
Ethan stood and retrieved a map from a shelf which he spread out on his desk, jabbing the centre of it with a stubby forefinger. ‘Here.’
Ben joined him. ‘Har Karkom?’
‘That’s right. The Bedouin call it Jebel Ideid – the Mountain of Celebrations. It’s a major Palaeolithic and Bronze Age cult centre.’ Ethan slammed the engraved stone down on the map. ‘Petroglyphs like this are thick on the ground. The area’s covered with ancient shrines and altars. Har Karkom may well be your Mt Sinai. Where’s your map?’ Ben handed Ethan his journal. ‘See here?’ The older man pointed at the twin summits depicted in the Topkapı manuscript. ‘Har Karkom has two peaks and the summits are surrounded by gal`eds – tumuli of stones erected as dedicatory monuments over altars or sacred stones. Some of them are twenty feet high. Stones have always been focal points of worship for Semitic people. Long before it became sacred to the Muslim faith, the Nabateans made annual pilgrimages from Petra to worship the black stone that’s now embedded in the Kaaba at Mecca.’
‘So that –’ Ben pointed a finger shaking with excitement at the curious mound shown in his drawing. ‘– That could well be a gal`ed! What better place could Balinas have chosen than somewhere hidden deep in the desert that had been a centre for worship in ancient times, not to mention the spot God reputedly handed down the Ten Commandments to Moses? Would that make sense to you?’
Ethan nodded, looking at Ben thoughtfully. ‘Your only problem? It depends on when the clues you’re following were written.’
‘Well, the book the map came from was eighth century, so the map itself can’t be any older than that. But it could also have been written in later than that.’
‘Of course. A Muslim text . . . so it post-dates Muhammad’s appearance in the sixth century. Well, in that case, it mightn’t be so easy.’
‘Why? Seems pretty straightforward to me.’
‘If the clues belong to an older tradition and somebody’s just transcribed them into the book at a later time, you might be all right. Har Karkom was such an important cult centre for the worship of the god Sin that it would make sense for that to be the place referred to in your clues if they have a very ancient origin. However, if they were drawing from seventh-century knowledge, well then – that was when Jebel Musa began to be popularly identified as Mt Sinai. And that didn’t start until the Byzantine Emperor, Justinian, ordered the construction of the Monastery of St Catherine on the spot where Constantine’s mother Helena decided she’d found Moses’ burning bush. But there’s also a third possible candidate. If the alchemists who constructed the trail you’re following lived in the fourth or fifth centuries AD, the Mt Sinai they would have known would have been the place now called Mt Serbal, which is also in the Sinai Peninsula . . . right there.’ He jabbed at a point well to the north of the Mt Sinai marked on the map.
‘Dammit.’ Ben’s heart sank. ‘And Mt Serbal is also pretty close to the Ancient Egyptian mines at Serabit el-Khadim. Which would make it a plausible alternative.’
‘Do you have any way of knowing when this trail of clues to Balinas’ tomb was originally devised?’
Ben thought of Sebile. She might know, but he had no way of contacting her. Without her help, he could only guess. He shook his head. ‘No. Unfortunately not.’
The two men were silent for a moment.
‘So, there are three possibilities, then.’ Ben tapped his finger on the desk. ‘But I can’t overlook the reference to the island of Jezirat Faurun and the north star,’ he said. ‘Mt Serbal might be further north than Jebel Musa, but it’s still a long way from being north of the island. The only one of the three that could be described as north of the Gulf of Aqaba is Har Karkom. Don’t you think?’ He said it with more certainty than he felt.
Ethan nodded. ‘Yes. I think you’re probably right. What do you have to lose, anyway? With all the troubles there, there’s no way you’ll be able to get into the Sinai Peninsula. The Negev will be difficult enough. And the petroglyphs . . .’ He picked up the stone. ‘They’re also pretty difficult to ignore.’ He looked at Ben intently. ‘One thing I don’t really understand; why are you doing this? You were always so scornful of my research.’
‘At the start, it was just about stirring up some trouble. But the more I look into it, the bigger it gets. There’ve been people killed. And now I know the Russians and Americans are trying to get the tablet as well.’
‘Wouldn’t surprise me. After Germany collapsed, they would’ve had access to the research from Dachau. But why would you care? This isn’t your fight.’
Ben thought for a mome
nt. ‘Maybe not. But even if only some of the things I’ve learnt about the Emerald Tablet and its powers are true, there are some hands I’d rather not see it fall into. And if what you’re saying is right, we might be the only ones who know that there’s a Mt Sinai other than the one everybody knows in the peninsula.’ Will you have worked that one out, Essie? You’re good . . . but are you that good? he wondered.
‘Well, if you’re determined to go into the Negev, you’ll need an escort. With the military build-up in the Sinai, you can’t go wandering around on your own. It’ll attract the attention of all the wrong people. Let me see if I can arrange you some transport.’
‘You’d do that for me?’
‘All self-interest, I can assure you. I’m too old to go in there myself, and if the tablet is entombed at Har Karkom, I’d rather be involved in its discovery than have someone else get there first. Go back to your hotel. I’ll call you there.’
26
Jerusalem
Ricard Schubert watched the American leave. A soft, mauve twilight had fallen over the city and the Terra Sancta Building had been deserted by the students and teachers. One light still burned in the building’s façade, and Schubert knew whose office it was.
He’d been told everything he needed to know about the man he was following. Whatever his other failings, Schubert had a memory that stored away details as efficiently as a library card system. A call he’d made from a payphone to the university when he realised that was where Hitchens was headed confirmed it was the workplace of the man the American had worked with in Crete: Professor Ethan Cohn. But what Hitchens hoped to learn from him was unclear.
Once the American was safely out of sight, Schubert slipped from behind the barricade he’d been using as a vantage point and strode towards the university’s front door.
He had no idea what it was that Hitchens had discussed with the old man. But whatever it was, Schubert had every intention of finding out.
The evening was warm and fragrant as Ben strode back towards the King David Hotel. It would have been bucolic if not for the sporadic crack of gunfire and wail of sirens echoing along the city’s streets.
The hotel’s floodlit façade loomed ahead and Ben was relishing the prospect of a celebratory Scotch when he stopped in the middle of the street and cursed aloud. He’d left behind the map and petroglyph Ethan had given him.
Although he had no reason to doubt Ethan, Ben knew that if the promised military escort to take them to Har Karkom didn’t materialise, with Ilhan’s assistance he was sure they’d be able to find themselves another vehicle. But he’d spent enough time in deserts over the years to have a healthy respect for what he knew were confusing and disorienting regions. To wander into the Negev without a map would be suicide. And given that Jerusalem was a city on a war footing, Ben doubted he’d be able to just pick up a topographic map at a corner store with the level of detail of the one Ethan had handed him.
Cursing his oversight, Ben turned back towards the Terra Sancta Building.
He was halfway down the hallway when he heard the scream.
Ben’s breath caught in his throat. The sound had been muffled but it was unmistakable. It was the cry of someone in tremendous pain, and it had come from the only room in the hallway that was still illuminated – Ethan’s office. Heart pounding, he took stock of the situation.
Need to find out what I’m up against here. His only advantage was that whoever was in the room with Ethan wouldn’t know he was there. Because there was minimal light in the hallway, he could approach the doorway without detection. But he was unarmed, and once he opened the door, he’d be exposed.
Dropping to a crouch so his head was below the level of the frosted glass panel set in the door, Ben scuttled towards the entrance to Ethan’s room. Silently rising to his feet, he sidled up beside the doorjamb and peeked into the room. He caught sight of an imposing silhouette against the backdrop of a blind now shut to shield the sight of whatever was going on in the room from passers-by in the street below.
Light streamed into the corridor through a wide gap beneath the door; Ben lowered himself down and rested his cheek on the stony-cold floor, peering through the opening. What he saw inside made his blood freeze.
Ethan had been bound in one of the chairs, his arms and legs strapped down, with another bond holding him so tightly against the chair’s back that the old man was struggling to breathe. A cloth gag was tied tightly around his mouth, digging into his cheeks and distorting the skin on his face. His eyes were stark white against the pupils of eyes dilated black with terror.
A heavy-set man paced in front of Ethan, sleeves rolled above his elbows, holding a murderously sharp stiletto blade between blunt fingers. His jacket had been removed and hung on the back of the other chair, exposing a holster containing what looked to Ben like a Luger pistol.
Great. Unarmed hand-to-hand combat against a man with a knife was bad enough. But those odds worsened exponentially when the other combatant had a gun as well.
The knife had already made a mark; a gash in Ethan’s left cheek ran with blood that dripped onto the front of his white shirt. As the man paced back and forth in front of Ethan like a caged lion, Ben could hear him speaking, but in tones so quiet and conversational it was impossible to hear what was being said. And it didn’t matter. Whatever his reasons for punishing Ethan, Ben had to stop it.
Without anything to fight with, he had limited options. A sense of desperation took hold as he tried to figure out the best way to intervene without getting both himself and Ethan killed. Then, he remembered: Ethan’s collection of weapons. He shut his eyes and visualised the room. They’re just inside . . . on the left. Ben glanced at the door. It opened to the right. If I’m fast enough, I can get in, grab something off the wall, then roll down behind the piles of boxes Ethan’s crammed into his room.
Now . . . just have to pick my moment . . . Ben dug his fingernails into his palms, controlling his breathing and focusing his mind on what he was about to do as he watched and waited. Inside the room, the man stopped his pacing and leant forward, shoving his face within inches of Ethan’s own. For the first time, he raised his voice. ‘Where’s he going?’ he asked, tearing the gag out of the old man’s mouth.
Ethan sputtered and coughed, spitting out droplets of blood that freckled his chin. ‘You think I’m afraid? I’m not telling you anything.’
The other man just shook his head. ‘You’re all so damned predictable. That’s what everyone says . . . at first.’ He yanked the gag back into place.
Ben readied himself as the man leant forward and ran the blade of his knife across Ethan’s other cheek. He clenched his teeth as he heard the old man’s muffled scream while rivulets of bright blood ran down the cloth and soaked it scarlet.
Taking advantage of the assailant’s temporary distraction, Ben pushed the handle down and shoved the door with his shoulder, dropping as he entered the room and grabbing at the weapons hanging from the wall. Startled, the other man spun on his heel as Ben got his hands on a spear and rolled down beneath the fortress of cardboard boxes that filled much of Ethan’s study. He scurried along the makeshift corridor. A spear? Ben cursed himself. Really?! You had to choose the most impractical weapon there, didn’t you?
‘Dr Hitchens?’ The other man’s voice rang out. ‘Is that you?’
Ben was shocked that the man knew his name. But he didn’t respond as he focused on his next move. A pathway led round the edge of the room, protected from the intruder by the wall of boxes. If he could make it to the windows, it’d be close to where Ethan was confined.
‘Not going to speak with me, then? Fine.’ Ben heard the sound of the safety catch on the man’s pistol. ‘This should slow you down a bit.’
He quietened his breathing and lay as still as he could. A round blasted from the gun, the bullet shattering the cabinet above Ben’s head, showering him in broken glass and the fist-sized chunks of obsidian that had been housed in the cabinet. Without thinking,
he grabbed one of the sharp-edged lumps of black volcanic glass and slipped it into his pocket. As the man squeezed off another shot, Ben was fairly sure that the thunderous sound would hide the noise, so he grabbed the lid off a file box and used it to sweep aside the largest pieces of glass from the carpet in front of him. Glittering shards embedded in the carpet were an unavoidable hazard – but if he wanted to move forward, he’d have to do so on his hands and knees or risk showing his head above his cardboard battlements.
Another bullet whizzed through the air, smashing into a cabinet further back towards the door. Good – he doesn’t know I’ve made it this far into the room, Ben thought. Using the cardboard to protect his hands, he scuttled towards the windows with the Roman spear held under one arm. Sharp pieces of glass pierced the knees of his pants and embedded themselves painfully into his flesh. Ben’s reflexes caused him to start as more shots rang out, thudding into the boxes that were his temporary refuge as the man peppered the room with bullets.
Ben leant back against a box and looked in the glass cabinet in front of him for the other man’s reflection. He could see him moving cautiously towards the door. As the man did so, Ben turned the corner and crawled to a point where he could see Ethan. The old man caught sight of him and his eyes widened. Ben held his finger to his mouth, urging him to be still. He hazarded a glimpse between two boxes and saw his assailant with his back to him.
Now or never. He stood and flung the Roman javelin at the same instant the other man caught sight of the movement in the corner of his eye and spun around, pulling the trigger of his raised pistol.
Ben dropped to the floor as the bullet whizzed by his head, embedding itself in the wall. He heard the sickening thud of his spear hitting its mark and a sudden expulsion of air and a grunt as Ethan’s attacker was struck. A fecal stench filled the room.
Cautiously edging around the row of boxes, Ben looked for the other man. The instant he saw him, Ben knew he no longer posed a threat. The five-inch iron blade of the short javelin had pierced his abdomen and pinned him to the door. Poisonous dark ooze was seeping through the man’s shirt where the wooden shaft protruded from the soft flesh of his belly. The pistol had fallen from his grip. The man fumbled and tugged at the javelin with hands now sticky with the gore pulsing from his gut with every beat of his heart.
The Emerald Tablet Page 19
