by Alex Archer
“Do you know which one?”
Annja did. The inscription had held the information in code that she and Cybele had broken. She named the document.
Louay searched the shelves and pulled down a massive tome with effort, then thumped it down on a nearby table. The sound carried through the room.
Annja put her backpack down and took out her camera.
“I’m sorry.” Louay put a hand on the camera. “This can’t be copied.”
“It’s okay,” Burris said. “She has a photographic—”
Annja elbowed Burris in the stomach and his breath exploded out of him. She smiled at Louay. “That’s fine. I just want to look.” She put the camera away and started leafing through the pages.
“If I may be so bold,” Louay said, “what is it you’re hoping to find?”
“A map.”
Louay hesitated. “Now I must ask, do you know Rafik Bhalla?”
“We haven’t met, but I know of him. Not a very likable guy.”
“That’s an understatement,” Burris said.
Annja feinted with her elbow so that only Burris could see. He stepped back and shut up.
“He is a criminal.” Louay’s face tightened with uncertainty. “The only reason I ask about him is because this is one of the books he frequently consulted while he was here.”
Looking up at the younger man, Annja smiled. “I’m not a criminal. I’m not here to steal anything. And I never want to meet Rafik Bhalla.”
Louay smiled back at her.
Turning back to the book, Annja found a heading that indicated she’d reached the section mentioned in the inscription she and Cybele had translated. She turned the leaf.
Someone had neatly razored the following pages out.
Chapter Thirteen
“We don’t allow anyone to copy the pages, but we do keep electronic copies of everything we have here.” Louay sat at the computer terminal in one of the library offices. His hands flew across the keyboard. Although he hadn’t said anything, his anxiety showed in every taut line of his body.
The church officials were in an uproar over the missing pages in the book. Several of them stood at the back of the room, shifting and fidgeting as Louay checked for the electronic backup.
Annja was glad she hadn’t been shown the door. Only the word of the religious studies professors she knew kept her in the room. She was going to owe some huge thank-yous when this was over. Burris was outside the room sulking.
On the computer screen, Louay flipped through the pages. When he came to the same section in the book Annja was looking for, the pages were blank.
Annja’s heart sank and the mumbling among the older priests at the back of the room escalated.
Undeterred, Louay kept working, speaking in his native tongue to calm the priests. He glanced at Annja. “It’s all right. Whoever tried to erase this file—”
Bhalla. Annja was certain of that.
“—didn’t know we have a backup copy in the cloud.” Louay made a few final keystrokes and the pages reappeared like magic. The young priest leaned back in his chair and threw his hands in the air.
Annja’s eyes flicked over the pages as Louay turned them. “Can you give me a translation of those pages?”
“An oral one, yes. But I can’t allow you to make copies.”
“That’s fine.” Annja stared at the pages, memorizing as fast as she could.
* * *
Burris wasn’t happy after being left cooling his heels for two hours. “Why did you have the kid read you the book if you were just going to write it all down, anyway?”
Annja sat at a back table in the restaurant Burris had chosen, one that featured Americanized food, and diligently wrote everything she’d seen into a notepad. As she finished each page, she used the portable scanner wand to upload them to Cybele Coelho, who was standing by in Rio to translate.
Around them, the small dinner crowd ate quietly, talking in low voices in a half dozen languages. The restaurant attracted what tourists there were, but the civil conflict had definitely driven down business.
“I had Louay read the section because—” Annja fed the last sheet into the scanner “—it takes time to memorize pages in a foreign language.”
“So do you think we have what we need?”
“I’ve got enough to make a move. Hopefully Cybele’s complete translation might provide more insight.” She picked up her kebab karaz, a cherry and lamb meatball kebab. She savored the rich flavor. “The passage talks about studies conducted in secrecy inside a chamber of the Cave of the Seven Sleepers.”
“On the Tower of Babel?”
“It doesn’t say that.”
Frustrated, Burris leaned back in his seat. “So you’re planning on trekking up Mount Qasioun and you don’t even know if what we’re looking for is there.”
“I believe it’s there.”
“Oh. Wow. That’s different. And that’ll probably make all the difference.” Burris snorted derisively.
Annja popped another meatball into her mouth. “I’m leaving in the morning. Early.”
Burris growled a curse and focused on his plate.
* * *
Tourist shops had sprung up around the Cave of the Seven Sleepers site over the years, and they had probably been there since the cave was first named and the unique history tied to it. Annja was used to that. Antiquity always brought out the gawkers and the hawkers, people who wanted to assuage their curiosity about oddities and people who wanted to make a buck.
Even with the glaring early sun, the temperature up in the mountains was cool enough that she was glad she brought her light jacket. Still, despite the hour and the blustery wind stirring up dust devils, trade was bustling.
Annja walked through the market area, passed several shops and open-air eateries and found a man who rented donkeys to travel into the mountains. Military jets from Syria as well as Lebanon blazed through the sky. The location was near the border of the two countries and tensions remained on edge.
After demonstrating that she knew how to handle a donkey, Annja was given two for the day. Burris wasn’t happy with the arrangement, but he dutifully pulled himself aboard the long-eared beast and they took off for the edge of town.
“Hey!” Burris urged his mount to a quick jog and caught up with Annja. “All the signage says the cave is back that way.”
“We’re not going to find anything in that tourist trap.” Annja wrapped a scarf around her lower face to keep out the dust and sand. The scrubby trees and sparse vegetation didn’t come close to holding the dry earth down.
“Then where are we going?”
“To find the cave Cybele and I read about in the translation.”
“No one else has found it?” Burris trotted past on the game little donkey.
“I’m pretty sure Bhalla is aware there’s a cave that’s off the beaten path. That’s why he wants the brick so badly. But how he found his way to the ancient document in the church library without the brick...I have no idea.”
Burris looked over his shoulder as the donkey kept moving. “How do you stop this thing?”
“Don’t worry about it. You’re headed in the right direction.” Annja put her heels to her own donkey’s sides. Anticipation vibrated inside her. There was nothing like making a new discovery.
Chapter Fourteen
“It’s not out here.”
After hours of listening to the whining, Annja decided to tune Burris out as she led her donkey over the rugged landscape. Evening was fast approaching and it was at least another hour before they reached the spot where she was pretty sure the Cave of the Seven Sleepers was hidden. They hadn’t brought any overnight gear—she hadn’t expected it to take this long, but gauging distance by donkey was a somewhat unrefined science, though she knew in a pinch she could sleep anywhere under any conditions. So could the donkeys, she was sure. She’d settle the extra expense with the guy who’d rented them when they got back the next day. Hopefully, h
e wouldn’t send the police looking for them when they didn’t make it back the same day.
“Whatever you and your Rio girl professor friend thought you had, you screwed it up.”
Annja scanned the mountain’s ridge, focusing on the three peaks mentioned in the translation. At least she hoped these peaks were the ones mentioned.
The problem with translations was that they could be wrong. Words didn’t translate exactly into another language, and then there was the fact that the measurements had been in cubits, which was the distance between the elbow to the tip of the middle finger—and that could differ greatly from individual to individual. She had narrowed the target site to a radius of a quarter-mile.
Burris stopped and drank from his canteen. “We’re going around in circles.”
They had enough water and trail food for a couple days. Annja would never have gone into the mountains without those, even if she’d only planned an afternoon expedition.
What bothered her wasn’t being out here longer than expected with an annoying shock jock. What bothered her was the feeling of being watched. But no matter how hard she looked, she couldn’t see anyone.
“We are going around in circles. That’s the whole point of this. You find a central location—ours is that collection of peaks—then you spiral out from it. Hunters track game in the same fashion, and police investigators use similar techniques when looking for fugitives.”
“An earthquake could have moved those peaks.”
“Yes.”
“Or filled in the cave you think is out here.”
“Yes.”
“I’m thinking maybe I should just give you my half interest in the brick. I could be somewhere relaxing with a cold drink in my hand.”
“I’d bet the donkey knows the way home.”
“Then you go and say something like that and I get suspicious that you know something I don’t.”
“I don’t. You know everything I know.”
Burris blew a raspberry.
Finally pushed past endurance, Annja was about to respond when she spotted an abscess beneath a growth of juniper trees pressing against a shelf of rock about seventy yards farther down the mountain in the direction she’d been headed. She lifted the binoculars hanging around her neck to her eyes and scanned the area.
She still wasn’t certain if what she was looking at was the mouth of a cave until she spotted the worn path leading to the spot. Elated, she dropped the binoculars and prodded the donkey onward.
* * *
“We could just hack the trees out of the way.”
Annja moved the juniper easily, not wanting to break the branches or otherwise disturb the growth. Other people had come this way and done the same. “We could.” She pressed forward, edging into the narrow cave. “We could also put up a neon sign announcing the cave.”
“Are you sure the donkeys won’t leave us here?”
“I am.”
“They don’t strike me as particularly loyal. I think mine was carnivorous.”
“We took the supplies, so even if they ran off—which they won’t—we’ll be fine.”
“It would be a long walk back.” Burris, winded and tired, followed her into the cave.
Annja played her flashlight over the cave walls. The chamber was roughly fifteen feet tall and thirty feet long. At the back, the level dropped quickly, disappearing beyond the flashlight beam. The rough stone surfaces glared white in some areas from lichen.
The worn path she’d spotted outside was more pronounced inside. Whoever had been here recently had taken care to wipe away as much evidence of their presence outside as possible. Shoe and boot soles showed up readily in the dust on the cave floor.
Hefting the saddlebags of water onto her shoulder again, Annja strode toward the back of the cave. The floor became steeply angled, but there were enough knobby ridges to make the going fairly easy.
She stepped down and descended into the earth.
* * *
Almost twenty minutes later, she found the intersection of tunnels. They didn’t quite make an X, but it was close enough.
Burris played his beam around. “This was in the translation?”
“Yes.” Annja flicked her light toward the tunnel on the right. “At some point, that leads back to the Cave of the Seven Sleepers, but it has probably collapsed along the way and that’s why this system hasn’t been found by explorers coming from there.”
“That’s not our tunnel?”
Annja pointed her flashlight to the left. “That’s our tunnel.” She started forward, excitement growing inside her.
“What if this tunnel is collapsed, too?”
“We don’t have much farther to go. We’ll know soon enough.”
* * *
Ten minutes later, Annja found the tunnel section she’d been searching for. She had to search three times for it, playing her flashlight beam over the uneven surfaces. Only a few tool marks stood out in the stone.
Putting her backpack down, she rummaged through the toolkit she’d brought and took out a stiff-bristled brush. Carefully, she swiped at the northern wall, dislodging dust and debris.
“What are you looking for?” Burris peered over her shoulder.
“Cracks.”
Burris snorted. “That wall is full of cracks. How are you going to know when you find the right one?”
“Because it looks like this.” Annja focused the flashlight on a web of cracks three feet off the ground.
“What is that?” He studied the shape, about three inches by three inches.
“A ziggurat. It’s the symbol for the Tower of Babel.”
“That looks square. I thought we were looking for a tower.”
“Some towers are built square or rectangular. Like the ziggurat. The Assyrians, Sumerians and Elamites—to name a few—built towers like these for temples. The Sialk Ziggurat in Kashan, from the third century BC—found and excavated in the 1930s—is still standing.”
After some careful study, she gently pressed on the ziggurat symbol. Nothing happened. Annja pressed harder and the ziggurat appeared to move. They both watched in awe as the image sank inward.
Stone rasped against stone, causing a minor tremor to fill the tunnel and dust to sift down from the ceiling.
Burris squawked and dropped into a kneeling ball pressed against one of the tunnel sides.
Gradually, a section of the wall slid inward, grating along runners carved into the floor. A minute later, it stopped.
Annja thrust her flashlight into the darkness, sniffed the air and followed the light inside.
Chapter Fifteen
On the other side of the massive door, Annja followed a short tunnel that led to a much larger chamber, which the flashlight’s beam couldn’t quite span. When she panned upward, the beam reached twenty feet and disappeared against the blackness.
Burris stumbled to a stop beside her. “How far down do you think we are?”
She estimated the distance they’d come and the angle of the descent. “Maybe three hundred feet.”
“Didn’t realize it was that deep.” He took a long breath and let it out. The light reflecting on his face revealed his worried expression. “So what are we looking for?”
“The tower in the shadow of the tower.”
“Sounds like something out of a fortune cookie.”
Annja moved forward, flashing her light around. “The inscription was written for someone who already knew what they would be looking for. It’s not a Wikipedia entry.”
“Yeah, I got that.”
An image blurred through the flashlight beam. Annja backtracked, searching for what she thought she’d seen, moving slowly now.
That’s when she saw the low stone pedestal with the tower on top of it. The pedestal had been cut from a stalagmite jutting up from the cave floor, shaping it into an eight-foot square only two feet off the ground.
The eight-foot ziggurat took up most of the pedestal. It had been carved from stalagmite, a
s well, and the craftsmanship was incredible. Annja felt certain if she’d measured the sides that they would have been in perfect mathematical proportion.
“Oh, man,” Burris whispered. “That’s...that’s...”
“Pretty incredible, isn’t it?” Annja placed the saddlebags nearby and fished out her digital camera and six emergency flares. She snapped the chemical flares to activate them, then placed them on the floor away from the ziggurat so the various surfaces caught the cool blue light.
Moving slowly, she photographed the tower from every angle, stopping to stare at a particular spot where a series of cracks seemed unnatural—almost like they were a guidepost of some sort. She quickly studied another area when Burris came over to see what had caught her attention. No point in giving everything away.
“What was this?” Burris asked. She didn’t know if he’d seen the crisscrossing of hairline cracks or not. “A model of the real Tower of Babel?”
“Maybe.” Annja took another shot. “Or maybe it was a reminder of the original tower.”
“It was made after the original tower,” a deep voice boomed.
Startled, Annja turned and discovered Rafik Bhalla and a small army of armed men in the cavern with her and Burris. As Annja stared at them, they turned on flashlights and filled the space with light. She blinked against it.
“Don’t move, Creed.” Bhalla held up a hand. “I won’t let my men kill you—unless they have to.” He smiled coldly. “Your friend there, I don’t have any feelings for. He doesn’t have your mind or your skills. His fate is immediately in your hands.”
Annja placed the camera on the stone pedestal and held up her hands. “Don’t shoot him.”
“I am glad you feel that way. Things will go much better if we all get along, I think.” Bhalla came forward, flanked by four of his men whose rifles never wavered from Annja. “I respect you a great deal, Ms. Creed. I am quite familiar with your exploits, both on television as well as in your archaeological works.” He stopped a short distance away from her and clasped his hands behind his back, staring at the tower. “It is quite beautiful, is it not?”
