by J. F. Penn
He paused, his frown deepening. Then, he turned the screen so Morgan and Jake could see the Times of India article he had found.
"They're reporting a record year at the Kumbh because of a number of miracles in rural areas," he read. "Children with the multiple arms of the goddess Kali and snakes found at sacrificial sites, with the seven heads of the naga. Some are claiming these are hoaxes but others are saying that it is a year of blessing and are calling for all Hindus to attend pilgrimage." He shook his head slowly. "I have my suspicions that Asha may be involved in this too. We have to find her in time. I'll put my best security men on it."
"We appreciate your help in finding her," Morgan said. "But we have also heard that there may be a way to counteract the power of the weapon. It's rumored that one of the books of the Nine Unknown may contain a counter-mantra. Do you know of this?"
Mahesh laughed, a hollow sound. "The Nine Unknown Men are equivalent to your Western Illuminati, a secret society founded by the great Emperor Ashoka in 273 BC. He had just won a battle, but the death toll was so great that he found the victory hollow and decided there had to be more to life than conquest. He searched for truths that would stand the test of time, then chose nine men and tasked each with protecting a sacred book, containing knowledge that could change mankind. Some say the books contain the elixir of immortality, the alchemists' recipe for gold, how to travel through time and even tactics of persuasion that could lead a ruler to victory."
"So what became of these books?" Jake asked.
"They are the stuff of legend," Mahesh said. "It's not even certain that they exist, and yet I know my father sought them, as have many before him and many will to come."
"Who were the Nine?" Morgan asked.
"No one knows." Mahesh walked to a bookshelf in the corner of the room and pulled out a journal. He flicked through the pages until he found the one he was looking for. "This was my father's work on the subject. Asha has been reading many of the journals he left in his room, but he gave this one to me a few years back and told me to keep it secret. He said at the time that he could no longer follow the path but that perhaps I might one day."
His fingers ran over the words. "He postulates here that not all of the Unknown Men were Indian and that influential members of society across the known world were chosen too. The tenth-century Pope Sylvester II was considered one because of his incredible knowledge of mathematics, astronomy and ancient science, way ahead of his time."
Morgan looked at Jake. "The Vatican connection explains how Ben knew about it, but how does that help us now?"
"Can we have your permission to go through that journal?" Jake asked. "We're part of an organization that researches religious and supernatural artifacts. We have a powerful database, so we could cross-reference your father's journal with some of our own information. We may be able to find hints of where the books might be."
"Of course," Mahesh said, "anything you need. While you start on that, I'll get my security staff tracking Asha."
He showed Morgan and Jake to a conference room just down the corridor from his office.
"Please, use this as your own. My resources are yours. I'll send someone to help you tap into our networks and together we'll stop my sister. My father worked his whole life to build this company, and I will not have her drag it down and use what he built for a deadly purpose."
His eyes blazed with anger as he walked out.
Minutes later, a technician came and helped them set up laptops and network access. Jake called Martin on the video phone. The ARKANE librarian sat in his office, coils of cable and old books visible in the background. They could hear the sounds of building work behind him and Martin's blond hair stood up in spikes that were far worse than usual, evidence of his stress.
"I wish you were both back here," he said. "But at least you now have Marietti and Father Ben."
Morgan knew that Martin had a soft spot for Ben after the old monk had helped him when a mission involving the Freemasons had gone horribly wrong. Martin would always be her friend, even if Marietti decided she could no longer work for ARKANE. She hoped that wasn't true, because the thought of going back to academia, to the confines of the university, filled her with dread. Her only hope was that they could stop the weapon in time.
"We need to build a custom algorithm," she said, refocusing on the work. She waved the journal at the screen. "We'll scan these pages so you have them as soon as possible to start cross-referencing. These Nine Unknown Men had sacred books with secret knowledge that could benefit mankind. Some of it was released slowly when needed, but still ahead of its time, so we should find evidence of that somehow."
Martin tapped away on his keyboard. "The ARKANE databases hook into the Vatican Secret Archives and many other sources that we probably shouldn't know about. There'll be something here."
"Tap into the Indian secret archives too," Jake said. "There's no way people haven't looked for these books already."
Martin frowned. "Actually, there's something already coming up. You're going to want to look at this."
Chapter 24
Martin shared his screen with them and it filled with the image of a swastika.
"The Nazis searched for these nine books," he said. "There's a rumor that they actually found the book of psychological warfare, and that Hitler's incredible power of persuasion came from its pages."
"Any mention of weapons?" Jake asked. "Psychological warfare is one thing, but we're talking about something more immediately deadly."
"Operation Paperclip," Morgan said suddenly, her face lighting up as she recalled the details. "Of course. It was a program that took the scientists and engineers of the Third Reich and recruited them into the US and the UK in the aftermath of World War II. They officially excluded active members of the Nazi party but we know that much of the research from experiments done under the regime were used by the West. They didn't want to waste such knowledge, even though it came at the cost of so many lives."
"And the Brahmastra is fabled to have the power of a nuclear weapon," Jake said. "So, could one of the books be responsible for the development of a nuclear bomb?"
Martin tapped away again. "Oppenheimer himself researched the Nazis and talked of the Brahmastra so there was definitely a connection, but I think we need to go back even further. Some sources say that King Solomon was one of the Nine and the book of Ecclesiastes was his response to this global search for knowledge and meaning. That would make the myth a lot older than the Indian version."
"Israel is also one of the few countries with a nuclear weapon," Jake said and turned to Morgan with a cheeky grin. "Allegedly."
"Look at this," Martin interrupted. "There is an ancient group of Jews in India." He pulled up an image of a tiny synagogue with blue floor tiles beneath the golden ark of the Torah. "The Cochin Jews are said to have arrived in India with King Solomon's merchants and settled in Kerala as traders. They're also called the Malabar Jews, one of the oldest Jewish groups in India. Their local dialect still has elements of Hebrew and is known as Judeo-Malayalam."
Morgan looked at the clock on the wall.
The minutes ticked on, but they could do nothing until they had a better fix on where Asha was. If there was a chance they could find the book in time, they had to take it.
"We should go down there," she said. "It's only a couple of hours' flight to Cochin."
Jake looked doubtful, but Morgan's face lit with renewed hope.
"Remember how we met the priest on the roof of the Holy Sepulchre back in the search for the Pentecost stones? It was only by meeting him in person that he trusted us enough to tell us of the stone they had protected for generations. Perhaps if we go down to Cochin we'll find someone who can help us locate the book?"
"I can work on the database algorithm while you're doing that," Martin said.
Jake nodded. "It's worth a try."
They called the assistant that Mahesh had assigned to them and the man noted down what they needed.
"We'll have the private jet take you to Kerala within thirty minutes," he said, and turned away to make the arrangements.
They were soon on a plane heading south, the plush cabin well stocked with local and international delicacies. Morgan browsed the material that Martin had emailed over.
"The Cochin Jews share DNA with populations of some of the most ancient Jews in Ethiopia. There are also the Paradesi Jews, also called White Jews, who settled in Cochin later in the sixteenth century following the persecution in Spain and Portugal. A diaspora indeed." She shook her head. "I don't know why anyone thinks that national borders even matter anymore. We're all just hybrids from generations before."
They landed at Cochin Airport and headed for Fort Kochi, situated on the tip of a spit of land that bordered a narrow channel into the port. The taxi drove around the shoreline past the triangular nets that lined the water's edge, weighted with stones so the fishermen could cantilever them up, filled with pomfret and mackerel. The air smelled of frying fish and masala spices from street vendors who cooked the local catch for passing visitors.
A horn blared and the deep noise vibrated in Morgan's chest as a local ferry docked nearby. The taxi paused as a crowd of people emerged from the ferry and blocked the road. It was warm and humid and sweat pooled at the base of her spine, but she relished the warmth and tropical atmosphere of the place.
They drove on round the peninsula to the old quarter of Fort Kochi, known as Jew Town. It was just a few streets filled with tourist shops and the Paradesi synagogue stood at the end of one road. The street vendors called out from the low doors, offering mezuzahs, Hebrew calligraphy and lace, as well as Indian textiles. They were good-natured and relaxed about their pitches, a very different vibe to the intensity of Agra and Mumbai.
If only they had time to stay and look around, Morgan thought as they left their bags in a secure area, a common precaution against anti-Semitic attacks on synagogues all over the world. Jake took one of the paper kippah, the circular head covering for men, and placed it on as a sign of respect. They both took off their shoes and walked barefoot, the result of local Hindu influence.
"Two tickets, please," Morgan asked the woman on the door, and she felt the ticket seller's eyes scan over her. They must see a lot of tourists here every day, but Morgan knew she looked Sephardic with her dark hair, even more so as the Indian sun had brought out her skin tone.
They walked through a tiny courtyard into the synagogue itself. The floor was an unusual design of blue hand-painted porcelain tiles from China, the unique patterns drawing the eye towards the Torah ark at the front. There were a couple of information stands but mostly it was plain and simple, as the synagogues Morgan was used to back in Israel. It did feel more like a museum than a place of worship though.
An oriental rug hung on one wall and Jake walked closer to have a look.
"This is a gift from Haile Selassie, the last Ethiopian emperor," he said. "There's definitely a link with the ancient Jews here."
At the back of the room a few pamphlets about the Jews of India sat on top of a heavily protected box. Morgan picked up a leaflet as the last tourists left the room. A few moments later, the ticket seller walked in. She wore jeans and a t-shirt with a mandala on it, her long dark hair held back by a leather strip. She looked like any other young Indian woman in the area.
"That box is said to contain tenth-century copper plates," she said. "They validate the rights given to the earliest Cochin Jews and are inscribed by the ruler in Tamil." She shrugged. "I've never seen them though. Where are you from?"
"We've come from England," Morgan replied, "but I was brought up in Israel."
"Oh, it must be so different there." The young woman sighed, her eyes bright with interest. "Our community is tiny and the Cochin Jews have no Rabbis so our community is led by elders." She pointed across the room. "There's separate seating for men and women as you can see, but it seems crazy, because I'm the last female Paradesi Jew of childbearing age. There are only six Jews left living in Fort Kochi."
Jake turned at her words and Morgan understood his interest. If there were so few Jewish people left here, it was far more likely that they would discover something useful. And she could see that the woman was lonely, a prisoner of an ancient faith where intermarriage was frowned upon and yet, she had no viable choice of partner in this tiny area. There might just be a way to encourage her to open up.
"What do you think will happen to the Jewish community here in the next generation?" Morgan asked.
The woman smiled but her eyes were sad. "The graveyard is just down the road, a historical site that will be preserved for tourists. I fear that is our future. Soon we will struggle to form a minyan."
Morgan turned to Jake to explain. "A minyan is the number of Jewish adults required to perform religious obligations, usually counted as men over the age of thirteen."
She turned back to the ticket seller. "Then the knowledge of this ancient group will be lost?"
"Indeed." The woman nodded. "A fate that many ancient groups have suffered. But you're from the vibrant homeland, so as ever, the Jews are not finished and never will be. There are other Jewish communities in India too, so we're not the last footprint of the faith in this country."
"And perhaps next year in Jerusalem?" Morgan said. "I believe you'll find a welcome there if you decide to go to Israel."
"Thank you," the woman said. "It's good to meet someone with hope. I'm Rachel, by the way."
She turned to go, but Morgan reached out a hand and touched her arm lightly.
"We're looking for something related to the ancient aspects of this area. A book, rumored to have come from King Solomon himself."
Rachel paled and her jaw tightened. "I'm sorry, but I must go."
Chapter 25
"Please wait," Morgan said, rushing after her. "You said yourself that this generation might be the last. What's the harm in sharing now?"
Rachel turned back to them, her eyes darting warily towards the entrance.
"My father left a box," she whispered. "When he died without a son, without any male heirs, he told me to bury it and never to look inside." She looked down and blushed a little. "But I did look and I didn't bury it. There are fragile pages inside from old books."
"Can we see it?" Morgan asked, her heart beating faster with anticipation. "It's hard to explain why, but we think perhaps this book could save many lives and stop a powerful weapon from killing innocents."
Rachel smiled and shook her head.
"These stories of weapons and war, of love and death. This is India. This is what we do." She shrugged. "My own myths are woven with strands of Hinduism and Judaism. Perhaps it's time the box was shared again. I'll take my break and show you. I just live nearby."
They followed Rachel out into the street. The shop owners didn't bother them this time, merely watching as they walked past with one of their own. Rachel turned down a side alley where a few narrow buildings crammed against each other. An old woman burned rubbish at the end, a common sight where rubbish collection was rare. She poked the embers with a stick and smoke billowed out, the sweet smell of rotten vegetables filling the air.
"Please, come inside." Rachel pushed the door open. "My great aunt will be out at work, so it's just us."
Morgan and Jake walked into a room barely high enough for Jake to stand upright. He seemed to fill the space and backed into a corner while Rachel bustled around them.
She pulled a slim mattress away from the corner of the room to reveal a storage cupboard below. Jake helped her to pull the doors up and she brought out a rectangular wooden box carved with the Star of David and Hebrew script.
"This is what I was told to bury." Rachel handed it to them. "It may contain what you seek. It may not."
Morgan carried it to a low table. She and Jake sat on the floor cross-legged and opened the lid.
A smell of mildew and sawdust rose from the box. There were a stack of loose pages inside, but even w
ithout seeing them all, Morgan could see that there was no way this was part of the ancient book they sought. Some of the pages might have been a few hundred years old but it could not be one of the books of the Nine Unknown Men.
She met Jake's eyes across the table and saw her own disappointment reflected there.
Rachel came to stand near them. She folded her arms as her eyes welled with tears.
"My father protected this for his whole life," she whispered. "I don't know what to do with it all now."
Out of respect, Morgan continued to leaf carefully through the pages. There were some texts in Hebrew and others in the local Malayalam language.
"Wait," Jake said. He put his hand out to stop her. "Go back. What's that?"
It was a plain page torn out of a notebook with jagged and faded edges and a drawing in the middle. A man stood with his arms outstretched as smoke billowed from his fingertips. Beyond him was a field of corpses with roughly sketched limbs sticking up from the ground, and people fell where smoke touched them.
"That sure looks like a weapon," Jake said. "And there's something on the back."
Morgan turned the page over to find several lines of Sanskrit. Copying manuscripts had always been a way to pass down knowledge. Perhaps this was such a copy and there was no telling how old the original might have been.
"Do you mind if we take this?" she asked.
Rachel nodded. "Of course, I think my father would have been glad of your interest."
Jake's phone buzzed. He pulled it out.
"It's Mahesh. There have been sightings of Asha and the Aghori at the Kumbh Mela camp. The private jet will take us straight to Allahabad and we'll meet him there."
They stood to go. Rachel shook their hands, holding Morgan's a little longer.
"Thank you," she said. "Sometimes I forget that there's a bigger world out there, but you've given me hope."
