by David Cline
About an hour later, the bus came to a stop and the doors hissed opened. Wood tried to look ahead but his view was blocked. He and Wilkins descended the stairs and exited with the few others who had ridden with them. They paused to get their bearings. The temperature was a little cooler. It looked like the Armenia Turkish border was in the foothills of a mountain range.
Wood thought the border crossing looked more like a prison yard. A formidable looking fence rose ahead of them with barbed wire leaning outward on both sides. Tall guard towers with military personnel watched them from high above the ground. Four giant flags fluttered in the wind.
Wilkins put a handful of sunflower seeds in his mouth and walked toward the small line of people waiting to be processed.
“What brings you to Turkey?” a man in uniform asked them when they reached the front. He had a long mustache and dark eyes.
“Business,” Wood said. He handed him his passport. The man looked at the picture and then back at him. He did the same for Wilkins and then checked their backpacks.
“How long will be your stay?” he asked, as he handed back their belongings.
“No more than a few days,” Wood said.
The man nodded and then stamped their passports. He gestured them forward and turned his attention to the next person in line.
They crossed into Turkey and headed for some cement barricades. The shadow of two enormous flags offered some shade as they sat down. They were blood red with a white crescent moon and small star.
“What now?” Wilkins asked. He spat out a soggy sunflower shell.
“We need to find a ride,” Wood said. He watched each person that crossed the border and then picked one. He stood up and made quick introductions. For $150 cash, the man said he would drive them to the mountain. It was only an hour out of his way.
They were led to a beat-up sedan. It was painted in a shade of brown that Wood had not seen since his parents ripped out their old shag carpet. One of the headlights was missing and rust had won the battle for dominance above the wheel well.
Wood sat in the front and tried to make friendly conversation with the driver. He asked about the mountain but did not know if the question was understood. For the next two hours, their chat drifted between soccer, hamburgers, and American women. Half the time Wood just smiled and nodded. Wilkins fell asleep in the back.
At one point, the driver turned off the main highway and began to follow a dirt road. Wilkins stirred but did not awaken. In the distance, Wood saw a large snow peaked mountain. They drove through villages dotted with small houses and large piles of dirt. The fields where crops were grown had turned a golden color as the season matured.
They pulled up to a roadblock that seemed out of place. A thick silver chain stretched tight across the road. A sign written in both Turkish and Arabic hung in the middle. Wood looked at the man for help, but he looked just as surprised as Wood. He began to talk so rapidly that Wood gave up trying to understand. He reached back and hit Wilkins on the leg.
“End of the road Adam. Looks like this is our stop.” Wood paid the man a little extra and then wrestled with the door until it banged open. They were left in a cloud of dust as the sedan flipped around and sped back the way it had come.
“Any idea what it says?” Wilkins asked. He stretched his back until there was a soft pop.
“My Arabic is rusty,” Wood said. “Let’s go try and make some friends.” He turned and walked toward the rural village down the hill.
“What do you want to bet that no one speaks English?” Wilkins asked, falling instep beside him. “That village looks as old as time.”
“Winner chooses next vacation destination,” Wood said. “That is assuming we ever take one again.”
Wilkins smiled. “Done.”
Wood did not expect anyone to speak English but thought asking around was worth their time. They walked house to house attempting to communicate, but it was clear that each person did not understand a single word they said and pointed them on to the next family with a smile. After they had called on half the village, an older man answered the door. He wore a light blue button up shirt and a green vest. The only hair above his shoulders was a thick white mustache.
“How can I help you?” he asked.
“We want to know a little bit about the mountain,” Wood said. He pointed up the road to the chain. “And what that sign says.”
The man lit a cigarette and gestured for them to follow him inside. The home was small but comfortable. The walls were made of grey cinderblocks. The roof was flat, and the open windows had thick green bars across them. Wood could not imagine the crime rate was high in such a remote village but decided not to ask about it. The three of them entered the kitchen and sat around a red table littered with books and rocks.
“Your English is fantastic,” Wood said. “Where did you learn to speak so well?”
The man blew smoke toward the open window. “I have worked in the visitor center since it opened in the 1980’s. People from all around the world came to visit the mountain. Many of them spoke English, so I learned over time.” He offered them both a cigarette, but they shook their heads.
“What is your name, friend?” Wood asked. “I don’t think I caught it.”
The old man extended his hand. “Hassan,” he said, and introductions were made.
“What kind of visitor center was it?” Wilkins asked. “If people came from all over the world, there must be something very special about this place.”
Hassan looked back and forth between them while he took another drag. He exhaled the smoke through his nose and motioned behind him. “This is where Noah’s ark landed.”
For a moment, the only sound came from a group of children running outside as they chased a ball across the dirt.
Wood did not know what to say. He looked at Wilkins for help while he processed everything. For the first time since they had arrived, he felt a twinge of guilt. Maybe they had acted rashly. Fortune favored the bold, but perhaps this time, patience should have been the virtue to prevail. Had they left their work in Paraguay and flew to Turkey because of an Old Testament legend?
“Noah’s ark?” Wilkins said, his tone skeptical.
Hassan nodded and blew more smoke toward the window. “In Genesis 8:4 it says the Ark came to rest on the mountains of Ararat. For centuries people have considered these mountains the landing site for Noah and his family. There are thousands of ancient graves scattered all around. They considered this place sacred.”
“Has anyone done scientific analysis to carbon date or verify any artifacts that have been discovered?” Wood asked. The guilt he felt lingered, but had begun to dissipate as his interest grew.
Hassan chuckled. “Of course. So much evidence has been found that in 1987, the Turkish government and dignitaries dedicated this entire region as Noah’s National Park. Like I said before, I was hired to work in the visitor center they constructed.”
“How far away are we from the alleged landing site of the ark?” Wood asked.
Hassan pointed sideways. “Just over the next ridge. About a 5-minute walk.”
“What can you tell us about the history of the site?” Wood asked.
Hassan straightened his vest and ensured that his shirt was tucked in. He folded his arms and began. “For centuries, my ancestors have believed that this is the location where the ark made landfall. Many have scoured the mountains looking for any signs the legends passed down were true. In 1948 an earthquake caused a landslide to uncover an interesting shape that was discovered years later by a Turkish military captain when he was taking aerial photographs of the area. Some American archeologists came and began to conduct their own investigation. They used molecular frequency generators to scan the ground, looking for anything out of the ordinary.”
There was a knock at the front door and an old woman poked her head through. She saw the three of them at the table and smiled apologetically as she turned to leave.
“Would you t
wo like anything to drink?” Hassan asked. He opened a cabinet and withdrew a glass.
“No, thank you,” Wood said. Although the ark was not what they had come for, he could not help but feel a sense of intrigue. How had he never heard of this place before?
When Hassan had finished his drink, Wood continued. “What did they find?”
Hassan smiled. The veiled excitement in Wood’s voice was clear. “They found an iron grid under the ground. The symmetry was so precise, they knew they had discovered something manmade. They began to lay down ribbons along the struts.” He puffed out his chest and looked proud. “I helped them. That must have been back in the early 80’s.”
“What did their machines detect under the ground?” Wilkins asked.
“The shape of an ark,” Hassan answered simply. “From bow to stern, the shape measured exactly 515 feet. When converted into cubits, which Noah and his family would have used as their system of measurement at the time, it came out to 300 cubits even. Precisely as recorded in Genesis.”
Wood looked out the window. “What does the ark look like today?”
Hassan shuffled through some papers on the table and handed him an old black and white photograph. Wood held it up to the light. Wilkins scooted closer. A distinct shape almost like a kite was clearly distinguishable against the mountainside.
“The landslide unburied what was left of the ark amongst the outcrop of rocks. You can see in the image that large rib timbers are still visible on the port side. The decks have long since collapsed in on themselves, but the general outline and scope is as clear as day.”
Wilkins squinted and looked at the image sideways. He pointed with his forefinger. “That is amazing. Those rib timbers still have the curvature of the boat.” He looked up at Hassan. “I don’t know if I believe the world was ever completely underwater but that is definitely the remains of a ship.”
Hassan smiled patiently at him. It was a practiced look. Wood guessed that he had heard the same thing many times while working in the visitor center over the years. “No quantity of physical evidence will make anyone believe,” he said.
Wood looked up from the image. “Spoken like a true wise man.” He passed the photograph back across the table. “Did any of the archeologists ever dig up and analyze organic samples?”
“Oh yes,” Hassan said. “The Americans took samples back to their country and had them analyzed in their universities. The carbon dating data came back and placed them right around the time of the flood.”
“What kind of artifacts did they find?” Wilkins asked.
Hassan waved a hand over the table. “Take a look for yourself. These objects aren’t ordinary rocks.”
Wood picked up a round black shape and examined it closely. It looked like a dinosaur egg. Deep cracks crisscrossed the length of it. He held it up. “What do we have here?” he asked.
“That is petrified animal dung discovered deep inside the ark,” Hassan answered. “Before the government banned any disturbance of the site, the archeologists drilled a small hole through the side to collect samples. That is one they extracted.”
“Amazing,” Wood said, as he put it down and picked up another.
“That is petrified wood,” Hassan answered before Wood could ask.
“These are really valuable samples,” Wilkins said. “Why are they in your home and not behind glass in the visitor center?”
Hassan frowned. “They used to be,” he said. “I grabbed them just before they closed us down.”
“Closed you down?”
“For a few years, the ark sparked international interest,” Hassan said. “Reporters and celebrities from all over the world came to see what we had discovered. Things were really good back then.” He paused, and for a moment was lost in the glory days long past. He slowly shook his head. “Like any good thing, after a while, interest faded, and everyone rushed off to the next place of intrigue. The Turkish government forgot of the arks existence as world affairs demanded all their attention and resources. When a private company offered them a large quantity of money for exclusive access to the site, they agreed. Once the paperwork was signed, they informed me the visitor center would be shut down until further notice.”
“Is that what the sign says?” Wood said. “The one that hangs on the silver chain across the road.”
Hassan nodded. “It says that everything beyond that point is private property and anybody caught trespassing will be arrested.”
Wilkins scoffed. “If they think a little chain is going to stop me from seeing the ark after we flew halfway across the planet--”
“You mustn’t go,” Hassan said, cutting Wilkins off. “Those people are dangerous.” His face filled with a familiar anxiety. Wood had seen the same look on the faces of the bystanders in Ciudad del Este when they knocked on the temple door.
Wood looked at Wilkins and knew he had just thought the same thing. He pulled out the paper he had been given on the bus. Could it be that they were still on the right trail?
“What can you tell us about the people who kicked you out?” Wilkins asked.
Hassan shrugged. “White people from the west. They are very private and do not socialize with anybody but their own. For a long while, activity was frequent. Large vehicles driving through our village was a daily occurrence. Things have quieted down the last few months.”
“Any idea what they were hoping to obtain with exclusive access to the ark?” Wood asked.
Hassan shook his head. “I know they brought in strange equipment and have conducted many tests. There are rumors amongst the villagers that they have tunneled underground.”
“What kind of security do they have?” Wilkins asked. “Cameras or guards?”
Hassan spat on the floor. “They have transformed my visitor center into their headquarters,” he said. “I know they have a few guards that monitor the area with motion sensors and cameras.”
Wilkins looked at Wood. “I don’t believe it would be hard to overpower security and force our way in for a quick peek.”
Wood shook his head. “It sounds like they have already discovered whatever they were looking for. I would bet that the site is abandoned except for a guard or two. If we trip their sensors, however, they will call backup. We are pretty exposed up here. Not much to hide behind if we are forced to run for our lives into the mountains.” He looked across the table at their new Turkish friend. “Do you have an idea where these motion sensors have been placed?”
Hassan picked up the black and white photograph again and pointed with a tobacco stained fingernail. “Most of the equipment is along the road and the slope that faces the village. On the far side are steep cliffs and wilderness. I think they rely on the natural barriers there to keep people out.”
Wood slapped Wilkins on the back. “I knew we brought our headlamps for a reason. How does some night climbing sound?”
Wilkins picked up the petrified wood and examined it closely. He still had a skeptical expression on his face. After a few moments, he placed it softly back on the table and shrugged. “Sounds good to me. Let’s go sneak into Noah’s ark.”
They spent the rest of the day preparing. While the sun was still up, Wilkins wandered into the wilderness and scouted the path they would follow. With the help of Hassan, Wood arranged for a villager to let his goat meander past the chain where green patches of pasture grew beside the road. They hoped the goat would trigger the motion sensors and distract anyone on the other side.
Around midnight, the two of them thanked Hassan for his help and promised to relate everything they discovered. With a handshake, they exited the rusty door and made their way out into the dark night. The moon had not yet risen, and the temperature was chilly. The only light came from the stars. Wood whistled when he paused to catch his breath and finally looked up. He could not remember ever seeing such a glorious sky. The Milky Way stretched out above them. Vibrant blues and purples twinkled.
Wilkins scratched the back of his head. “Do you
know that the most recent estimations speculate there are over 100 billion stars just inside the Milky Way, all with their own solar systems of orbiting planets and moons.”
Wood craned his head and tried to locate his favorite constellations. “You still think it all happened by chance?”
Wilkins chuckled. “You know I have always believed in something greater out there. Just haven’t yet determined what that is.” He bent down and tightened his laces. “You really think that this is where Noah landed?”
Wood let his mind wander with the cool night breeze. “I really don’t know,” he said. “The Old Testament is full of symbolism and allegory. True science is the same thing as true religion. God is not a magician waving a wand. He is bound by the same natural laws of the universe as we are. I expect his understanding of them is perfect and infinite.” He looked back up at the sky. “Just like the universe is infinite.”
“So, you couldn’t care less either way?” Wilkins asked.
Wood shrugged. “I guess my faith isn’t built upon the foundation of physical evidence. Hassan was right when he said that no archeological discovery is going to make people believe. If overwhelming analysis on this site proved beyond doubt it was indeed Noah’s ark, would you change your behavior or the way you live?”
Wilkins hesitated. “No, I guess I wouldn’t. Although, I don’t think everyone would ever agree, no matter what evidence was found.”
“Exactly,” Wood said. “Any new discovery or debunked theory could rock your entire foundation.” He paused. “Although, I must admit that the archeology stuff is really cool. Let’s go see what all the hype is about.”
Wood followed Wilkins until they reached a pile of carefully balanced rocks. Earlier in the day, Wilkins had constructed the cairn to mark the best place to ascend the cliff. Wood turned the headlamp onto its red-light mode. The human eye can see a candle from approximately 30 miles away. The red light enabled them to see but remain concealed from a distance.
