by L. Todd Wood
After Cecilia and Fernando exchanged discussions about their various research projects for another twenty minutes, Fernando abruptly changed the subject. “Okay, my friends. Let’s get on with the business of the day. He got up from the table, and Rafe and Cece followed. He led them into the open expanse of the museum. Rafe immediately noticed a reconstructed copy of a galley that was the centerpiece of the current exhibition on Spanish sea power. It was massive and took up the majority of the open hall. Cecilia and Rafe followed Fernando around the vessel to a far corner of the monstrous covered ship construction facility, and there they found a makeshift set of wooden stairs heading down into the cavern below that had been recently excavated. Slowly they negotiated the wooden staircase and entered a small space that had been carved out of the soil. There etched in the dirt on the far wall was the outline of an arched entranceway. The copper door was still attached and had blocked the outside elements for two thousand years. On the face of the door was a man with the head of a lion, a serpent wrapped around his body, with the head of the snake resting upon the lion’s mane. The figure held two keys, and his mouth was open in a terrifying pose.
The image was similar to the one Rafe had seen below water and sketched for Cecilia. He was mesmerized by the engraving, drawn to it. The face of the lion seemed to be looking directly at him, beckoning him. Cecilia waved her hand in front of his face to get his attention. "Rafe?" she asked. "Are you with us?" He had to tear his gaze away from the image.
"Yes," he responded. "Let's see what's in there."
The ancient hinges supporting the door were in fairly good condition, and it was obvious nothing had been disturbed. The copper had turned almost a pastel blue over the centuries. The soil was still packed into the cracks around the door as an earthly seal. Fernando motioned to his workers, and they appeared with a satchel of small tools in order to pry open the lock. After around thirty minutes of delicate work, the metal gave way easily, and the ancient chamber was ready to be opened.
“Are you ready?” asked Fernando. “After this, I want you to tell me where you found the image. It’s your price of entry,” he said with a smile. He pushed on the door. It swung forward elegantly. They peered inside. The height of the doorway was rather small, as humans were much shorter back then. Cecilia was amazed at what she saw.
There was a long alleyway down the middle of the small room. Stone benches were attached on each side against the wall. At the opposite end of the table, between the benches, there was an altar. Above was a large image of a man riding a horse and slaying a bull. On the walls of the rectangular room were all types of other images of battles and of strange creatures. It would take years to discern all of the data they could claim from this find. Fernando and Cecilia were overjoyed and beside themselves with excitement. She turned to Rafe with elation in her eyes, but it was short lived. Rafe was staring at the altar. A look of horror gripped his face. On the altar under the image of the bull was a small frame. It was leaning against the wall facing them. Inside the frame was a picture of his four-year old daughter, Clare.
Cecilia looked at where Rafe was staring. “That’s my daughter!” he shouted. “Who put that there? Is this some kind of trick? Who are you people?” He waited for a response. Cecilia and Fernando were too shocked to offer one. They said nothing. Rafe went to the altar, grabbed the picture, looked at it with fear, and then left the vault, not caring about the ancient artifacts surrounding him.
They had been down in the excavation site for almost an hour now, and Rafe had no cell reception. He bounded up the stairs and made his way toward the exit of the museum; he had to call his daughter. His phone began buzzing insistently in his pocket as the coverage connected. He looked at the screen, there were a dozen missed calls. They were from his ex-wife. His heart sunk. Rafe dialed.
“Melanie, it’s me.”
His ex shrieked into the phone. “She’s gone! She’s gone! They took her! It’s all your fault!”
“What are you talking about?” queried Rafe. But he knew in the depths of his heart she was gone.
“It’s Clare, she’s gone, you son-of-a-bitch! It’s all your fault!”
“Melanie, calm down and tell me what happened!”
There was a pause on the phone. Rafe waited. “I was at home and it was a nice day. I let her go play in the backyard. Then my friend Rachel called and I started talking to her for a while. Then when I hung up, I looked in the backyard and she was gone. The police have been here for over an hour. Like I said, it’s all your fault, you son-of-a-bitch!”
Rafe ignored as usual the accusations coming from left field. He was used to her deflecting blame. “How long were you on the phone?”
“Only about an hour.” Rafe winced. Panic welled up inside him.
“My angel,” he muttered to himself. “Let me talk to the police. I’m coming back to the States immediately.”
After a short conversation with the police detective at his former home, Rafe bounded back inside to the excavation site. Fernando and Cecilia were coming up the ladder and entering the main museum floor.
“What have you done with her!” he demanded. Again they looked shocked.
“What are you talking about, Rafe?” asked Fernando.
“My daughter, she’s missing. And coincidently I find her picture in this tomb of yours that supposedly hasn’t been opened for two thousand years. A little hard to freakin' believe, don’t you think?” He grabbed Fernando by the throat and threw him into the wall. “Where the fuck is she?” he screamed, his face an inch from Fernando's.
Cecilia pulled him off of Fernando, grabbed both his shoulders, and looked him in the eyes. “Rafe, I don’t know what’s going on, but I can tell you Fernando has nothing to do with it. I have known him for years and he is a good person. Do you understand me? Now let’s go back to the conference room and talk this through so we can figure out a way to help you and decide on the best course of action. Okay?”
Rafe was shaking with worry and fright. The police knew nothing. Cecilia tried to comfort him. How could he go back to the States after what had happened here? Who could he trust? What the hell was going on? Fernando had brought out a bottle of whiskey to help calm his nerves. Rafe downed a few shots, felt a little better, and tried to think. Finally he looked sternly at Fernando and spoke,
“How did her picture get in there?”
“Honestly, Rafe, I have no idea. That vault has not been opened for two thousand years. You saw the hinges and the lock. They were too fragile to be opened, shut and opened again. I don’t know what to tell you. I’m baffled.”
“Someone is playing a trick on me. A horrible trick. I’ve got to figure it out.” They all fell quiet until Fernando broke the silence.
“Tell me about the discovery of the image. Where did you find it?”
Rafe recounted the story. Fernando listened and finally spoke. “You’ve been chosen.”
“What do you mean, chosen?” asked Rafe incredulously.
“It seems pretty obvious to me. I’ve studied this religion for years, and there is not much known about it. But it does seem that individuals were invited into it. Otherwise, no one knew it existed. That’s why the temples are all underground. It seems to me, someone at least wants you to think you were chosen.”
“But what does this have to do with my daughter?” asked Rafe angrily.
Cecilia spoke, “Well, I say we all try and figure this out. However, I’m not sure where to start.”
“Tell me about this god they worship,” said Rafe quietly.
“That’s the thing,” started Fernando. “No one knows much about this religion. It’s all speculation. It’s considered a mystery religion because, as I mentioned, you had to be asked to join. Everything was done in secret. It is believed by some that the Roman Mythraic god stems from the pre-Zoastrian god Mithra. Mithra was the god of contracts, the god of the sun, the god of good things. In fact, they believed Mithra could provide salvation. Others believe the god is r
elated to a demon worshiped in Persia thousands of years ago. The one thing we are sure of is that Roman Mythraism competed with Christianity in its first few hundred years, until Emperor Constantine allowed Christianity to become the dominant religion in Rome.” Fernando paused for a moment and then continued. “We also know there were seven stages of enlightenment. Each phase had its own symbols. Again, we are mostly guessing what it all means because nothing was written down. The one remnant of Roman Mythraism that you can see and touch today is the underground temples. There are hundreds if not thousands of them spread around the former empire, wherever the legions lived. The religion flourished primarily among the soldiers and diplomatic personnel.”
Rafe could only think about his daughter. “I’ve got to get some fresh air and think.” He left the room alone and walked out into the warm night air, his soul tormented with anguish.
Rafe walked along the Rambla in a trance. The street was the connection from the shipyards to the city hundreds of years ago during the height of the Spanish empire. It was a wide pedestrian walkway lined with artisans and cafes. In one section of the thoroughfare, in front of the old pubs, you could actually see holes in the concrete that the prostitutes had worn into the pavement with their high heels, waiting on the sailors coming off the ships.
His angel had been kidnapped. He didn’t notice any of the people walking around him. The tourists and the locals mingled together. The cafes and restaurants were humming with business but he didn’t notice. He kept walking. Sometime later he was halfway up the wide pedestrian corridor towards the Plaza de Catalonia when he realized he was outside the Boqueria Market. The open-air market had its beginnings a thousand years prior as an outdoor straw market near the gate to the old city. Today, the market was a planned facility showcasing all types of local food merchants. As the evening set in, the market was full of tourists and local buyers alike trying to decide amongst the dazzling array of food. There were vegetable stands teeming with fresh produce, chocolate venders, pastries, fresh seafood, butchers, and small stands selling various types of prepared dishes. You could barely make your way down the open corridors and much less get the attention of the shop merchants. It was a madhouse and had probably been this way for over a thousand years. Rafe decided to wander in. He was not sure why.
He strolled among the throng of people in a daze. The smells of all the different foods washed over him. However, his thoughts were on Clare. Why had someone taken her? Was it for ransom? He couldn’t even imagine any more sinister reasons. He became angry and started to panic.
Someone has taken my daughter. I’m going to find them, and kill them.
Rafe stopped in the middle of a back corridor; the smell of fresh-cut fish hovered around him, and he realized he was in the middle of the seafood part of the market. Middle-aged women were picking up large, uncut salmon and other species, looking them over for a possible trip home for dinner. At that moment, Rafe achieved a clarity of purpose. He had to get his act together so he could help his daughter. He had to be strong. God knows, his ex was not going to be. Should I go back to the States? But something is going on here. I can feel it. The answer is here. For some strange reason, I’m supposed to be here in Barcelona. I was supposed to find the picture. Yes, I'm being chosen. But for what?
Rafe turned and made his way back to the front of the market towards the exit to the Rambla. As he exited the throng of shoppers, he noticed the street was full of people watching the performance from the sex museum on the balcony above—a Marilyn Monroe look-alike was entertaining the crowd below, flashing her eyelashes and allowing them to look up her dress. Except one person was not watching. Rafe saw a handsome, well-dressed man looking at him from across the wide expanse of the pedestrian walkway. He wore a stylish, black, Spanish looking leather coat and boots. There was a rugged strength about him. Even in the dim light he could tell he was staring at him. It was if he and Rafe were the only two people in the whole world. The roar of the crowd was silenced around him. It was eerie, and he felt a chill go down his spine. The man was in his late fifties with salt-and-pepper hair and piercing, green eyes, which were drilling right through him. Rafe felt cold. He knows something. He knows about Clare! Rafe took a chance and broke into a sprint toward the man, rage etched in his face. The man saw his rapid movement, turned to melt into the crowd, and disappeared. Rafe gave chase and quickly reacquired him running down one of the side streets that made its way back to the plaza to the north.
“Stop!” yelled Rafe. The man turned his head and then darted onto another side street. Rafe followed, running furiously, closing on him slowly. The crowd moved away from the center of the alley to provide him room as he ran. He could see the man’s black coat flapping behind him as he furiously tried to get away. The man turned right around a corner, entered another wide plaza, and disappeared from view, but not before something fell from his coat pocket as he turned.
Rafe reached the place where he had entered the plaza and looked around. The man was nowhere to be found. The plaza was empty. He was gone. Dejected, Rafe continued to search the side streets of the square but finally returned to where they had entered the plaza. The wind had blown the piece of paper the man dropped towards an open pit in the center of the expansive space. The paper was dangerously close to being blown in the pit, which was surrounded by a wrought iron fence. Rafe then realized the pit was the excavation of the ancient Roman acropolis from the old city of Barcino. The tombs were now illuminated by a faint glow of man-made lights. The effect was ghoulish. He could make out the Roman writing on the gravestones. He reached down to pick up what had dropped from the man’s pocket. It was a tourist map of Rome.
Chapter Four
Rafe walked quickly back down the Rambla towards the Maritime Museum. He noticed no one. He didn’t care about anyone else. He was only concerned with Clare. How could this happen? He remembered her sitting in his lap when she was about two years old, clinging to him like a refugee. He was her world and she was his. I will not allow anything to happen to her. His anger turned to something darker, something more Machiavellian. I could easily kill someone for this!
He was jerked back to the present. What to do? One thing he was certain of, the man was trying to tell him something. He wanted Rafe to see him and follow him. Is it the map? Rafe took the folded-up map out of his pocket. It was the kind of map you get free at a hotel, printed on cheap paper that was already worn and tearing at the folded seams. It seemed as though soon it would turn to dust. He stopped at a café, sat down, and ordered a glass of wine to calm his nerves. He put the map on the table, so it was bathed in light, to discern what he was supposed to realize.
The paper had been folded so as to highlight a certain part of the ancient Roman city, the Foro Romano. The Forum was the center of Rome, where all the legal, judicial, and political events and decisions took place. The Coliseum stood massively tall outside its perimeter. The Forum had been lost to the ages until excavated by an English archeologist named Edward Gibbon in the eighteenth century. He then proceeded to write the classic series The Decline and Fall of the Roman Empire. Although now in a state of ruin, visitors could still see the columns and remnants of the temples and buildings. It was quite a magnificent place. Rafe had been there once as a child.
He looked closer at the map and noticed that it had been folded to highlight one certain place in the ancient metropolis. It was now directly in the center of the folded square. It was the Circus Maximus.
Three hours later, after some time to think at the café and another stroll through the pedestrian walkway, Rafe returned to the museum, which had long since closed. Fernando had left the main doors open, and he and Cecilia sat inside near the ticket counter, sharing a bottle of wine. The light was retreating from the day as the sun started to set. They stood as he finally entered.
Cecilia spoke first. “Are you okay?”
“No I’m definitely not okay!”
“What can we do?” she added.
Fernando spoke, “Rafe, I understand your anger and frustration; however, you have to understand that we have no idea how this happened. It is a mystery to us as well. That being said, I can speak for the museum staff that we will do everything in our power to help you. Our resources are at your disposal. I can feel your anguish and it pains me greatly. I cannot imagine losing a daughter, as I have two myself.”
The fight had gone out of Rafe. He was tired with grief. “She is not lost. She is just misplaced. And thank you for your offer. I will let you know if I need you. However, right now, you can tell me all you know about this place.” He put the map on the ticket counter and pointed to the place that was obviously highlighted.
Cecilia responded. “It’s the Circus Maximus. It was used for sporting events in the old city throughout the ages. Eventually, the Coliseum overtook it for popularity, but chariot races were held there until the fall of Rome. It’s a wonderful arena hewn into the hillside overlooking the Forum, a massive structure. It’s complete with its own set of tunnels, caverns, vaults, and temples constructed to support the area. It’s a fascinating place.”
“Well I’m going there,” said Rafe.
“Why? Where did you get this?” asked Cecilia incredulously.
“Let’s just say someone wants me to go there.” Cecilia stared at him, not understanding.
Fernando spoke, “There is a Mythraim there. It’s in an underground cavern under the arena. The public is not allowed to access the temple. It is closed off.”
“Funny, what a coincidence,” Rafe quipped.
“I’m going with you,” declared Cecilia.
“Suit yourself,” said Rafe, his voice full of distrust.
Rafe stared at Cecilia, who was sleeping soundly on the hotel bed. They had found a room for the night at a local establishment. Rafe could hear the tourist crowd still partying on the Rambla below with the usual crowd of locals, even though it was well into the early morning hours. He could not sleep. It seemed Barcelona couldn't sleep as well.
