The Tombs of Eden

by Rick Jones

  “And once we go down that road, John, when will it stop? The moment we justify the murder of one, then it becomes easier to justify every other killing thereafter.”

  Savage knew he was right—that such an event could promote further actions as long as they were tagged as justifiable. The easiest thing for any man to do is to justify any action, no matter how heinous the act may be.

  “We are bound, nonetheless,” he said finally. “Pope Leo was evasive. But I could clearly see in his face that this decision racked him as well.”

  Leviticus crossed his arms across his chest. “Pope Leo has always been a good man,” he said. “To make such a call is unlike him.”

  “I believe that Leo thinks that the discovery of Eden holds something dark and dangerous about it, something that could hurt the Church.”

  Leviticus shook his head. “Can’t do it, John,” he said. “You know my team lives by the credo: Loyalty above all else, except Honor.”

  Savage nodded.

  “She’s an innocent woman who doesn’t deserve this. I—my team—will not target her.”

  “Then you will have to explain this to the pontiff.”

  “I’ll have no problem with that.”

  There was a pregnant pause between them, both men unwilling to relinquish their steely gaze.

  Then Leviticus relaxed by lowering his arms. “Look, John, you’re my friend. But this is your problem. Now I know you have combat skills rivaled by few, but this is a matter you may have to perform on your own if you choose to do so. But if you do, then do a little soul searching and ask yourself what’s more important: Duty to Pope Leo or duty to yourself. This isn’t the Crusades where we promote Catholicism by the sword. This is the time to uphold and value our honor and the honor of the Church, no matter who holds the scepter of rule.”

  Savage just looked at him. Leviticus stared back.

  Although he was SIV and Leviticus a soldier, in his heart he was also a warrior. For more than ten years, he had served as the head of an elite navy SEAL team. On several occasions, he and his team had been sent on covert missions performing the “impossible,” with every member of the team believing that the word “impossible” didn’t mean that something could not be done; it only measured the degree of difficulty.

  And his unit met that high level of difficulty time and again, and always came away victors.

  “My duty is to the Pope,” he said, but there was little conviction in his tone.

  As a SEAL, he was forged to act without question, it was ingrained in him. But the moment he retired from the SEAL team, he had set off to Italy where the Vatican chose wisely in its decision to have him direct the Servizio Informazione del Vaticano. But he could not deny that he missed the feel of a gun in his hands or the flow of adrenaline coursing through his veins.

  “Then follow whatever your conscience tells you to,” said Leviticus. “Mine is clear.” Without saying goodbye, Leviticus turned and left Savage standing alone by the stand of flowers next to the Old Gardens. And there he stood vacillating between duty and honor, wondering if both were equal or separate.

  #

  “Leviticus is a good man,” Pope Leo told Savage. They were standing on the balcony of the Papal Chamber that overlooked St. Peter’s Square. In view were the Colonnades and the Obelisk, and a perfect sky that was uniformly blue. “But there is much that Leviticus does not know,” he finished.

  “Yet you ask him to commit murder.”

  The pontiff reached out and placed a gentle hand on Savage’s forearm. “What I ask I do so with much heaviness in my heart,” he said. “Believe me, John, when I say that I agonize over this ruling. But sometimes harsh decisions must be made in order to preserve the integrity of the Church.”

  “And Eden poses such a threat?”

  “It may. But it’s something I can’t afford to risk.”

  “But you’ve never said why.”

  Leo released him and looked out over the square, at the throngs of people milling about. “There’s an ancient scroll,” he said, “that’s in the possession of the Vatican. It spells out in detail the location of Eden . . . as well as what’s inside.”

  The pontiff offered nothing more so Savage pressed him. “And?”

  Pope Leo lowered his head. “All I can tell you, John, is that it’s a place where science and religion meet,” he said. “Nothing, not even this place—” He cast a hand outward to indicate the city “—may be as it seems. Not even us, for that matter.”

  Savage looked at him questioningly. The man was talking in circles. “I don’t understand.”

  “John, I’m being cryptic for a reason. The secret of Eden is entrusted to the reigning pope, and is summarily passed down to the successor. So I ask you to respect that. I’m also asking you to take that leap of faith and do for me what Leviticus refuses to do. I need you to preserve the interest of the Church.”

  Savage worked the muscles in his jaw.

  “The scroll demands it,” said Leo, building on his goading. “It’s been ordained.”

  “By whom?”

  Leo didn’t answer. At least not right away. And when he did speak, it was only in the form of a question. “Will you do this, John? Will you find the girl?”

  Savage gave the pontiff a sidelong glance and then, for some reason, he raised his hand and flexed his fingers, opening and closing his hand in and out of a fist, wondering what it was like to once again hold the weight of a firearm.

  “Find the girl,” said the pontiff, “before she finds Eden.”

  “And if she should find it before I find her?”

  “Then destroy it,” he said. “Destroy it so that it can never be found again.”

  Without anything further, Pope Leo turned and walked away, leaving John Savage alone on the balcony beneath a beautiful blue sky.

  CHAPTER EIGHT

  Somewhere in the Atlantic Ocean

  Obsidian Hall was back on board the Seafarer, sitting in the antiquities room that overlooked one of the yacht’s three pools. He was surrounded by priceless goods such as jade vases and glass skulls bearing the mystiques of supernatural histories. On the walls were stolen pieces by van Gogh and Rembrandt, the “Poppy Flowers” and “The Storm on the Sea of Galilee,” respectively, and worth more than one hundred and fifty million dollars combined.

  “Mr. Montario was the last,” he said into his Bluetooth. He sat in a chair on the upper deck that overlooked two bull sharks circling each other in the pool. “Now that Professor Moore’s entire team is gone, that leaves Ms. Moore as the only person who has the ability to translate this book,” he added, holding the small journal up in front of him.

  “You didn’t have to kill him,” said the voice coming over the sound speaker.

  “I gave him every opportunity to comply.”

  “You would have killed him anyway.”

  “Most likely, yes. It’s obvious the Turkish government knows nothing of the location of Eden. And now that Mr. Montario has been liquidated, that leaves me with the high probability that I possess the coordinates somewhere within the encrypted pages of the journal I now hold in my hand. I have thereby taken the liberty to scan the pages and will summarily forward them to you. You will then proffer them to Ms. Moore and mine her for information.”

  “After what you did to Mr. Montario, I no longer wish to be in league with you.”

  Obsidian traced his fingers over the curvature of a crystal skull that had been misappropriated from a Columbian museum and was reputed to possess spiritual and mystic powers. Never once did he take his eyes off the sharks. “Do you know what I’m doing right now?”

  “No.”

  “I’m watching a pair of bull sharks circle my pool,” he said smoothly. “If you ever feel that you’re in charge of anything I’m involved with, financially or otherwise, then I will personally oversee the effort to have you brought here to join them. Is that clear?”

  When the caller didn’t answer, Obsidian repeated himself mor
e emphatically. “I said, is that clear?”

  “Yes, sir.”

  “I have kept the AIAA afloat for years through corporate grants. If it wasn’t for me, then Professor Moore and his lackey clan of subservient gravediggers would have been nothing more than teachers working in lackluster colleges, rather than at valued dig sites. This has been a long time coming for me. I paid my dues and now I stand at the threshold of greatness. The moment you agreed to accept my funding to keep the AIAA alive, was the day you became my bitch. In other words, you have nailed your soul to the devil’s altar.”

  “My intentions were honorable.”

  “Your intentions cost me millions—honorable or not. You don’t run the show. I do.” There was silence over the speakers. “Are you still there?” asked Hall.

  “I’m here.”

  “Does Ms. Moore know that my corporation has funded past digs, most recently the Göbekli Tepe dig?”

  “She would never have allowed it if she knew the truth. Neither would her father—given your reputation. It would have broken their hearts, but they would have let the AIAA go under before they accepted a dime from you.”

  “So in rushes a man of regard, such as yourself, who is unwilling to stand by and watch an old friend’s vision of leading a crusade to find Eden end up as a pipedream. You paved the road to hell with good intentions to keep this from happening. How noble of you.” Hall continued to watch the sweeping motion of the sharks as they circled ceaselessly and without purpose. “Ms. Moore may prove to be an asset, so get the documents to her. In the meantime, I will gather a team.”

  “A team? For what?”

  “If there are dangers within Eden, then it would be prudent to go in with an armed unit to keep what happened to Professor Moore from happening to us.”

  “She’ll never agree to that.”

  “Make her agree,” said Hall. “If not, then your purpose has been served. Let’s not have a repeat of what happened to Mr. Montario happen to you.”

  There was a long pause, and then, “Yes, sir.”

  “Good enough. The documents are on their way, so check your laptop.” With that, Obsidian Hall cut off the connection.

  He continued to graze the tips of his fingers over the smoothness of the crystal skull while holding the black journal in his other hand. There was no doubt in his mind that John Moore, given his anal quality of pursuit and documentation, had encrypted the coordinates within the bindings of the little black book. Now it was up to Alyssa Moore to determine them.

  He looked at the skull and considered the legend that it had the ability to speak or sing, and that it contained the answers to some of the great mysteries of life and the universe. But so far it had granted him nothing; not even the secrets of the professor’s journal.

  And then he gazed at the paintings, at the vases and antiquities, at all the treasures and realized that he was surrounded by priceless riches that would never hold up to the prizes of Eden. He closed his eyes and could only imagine. The moment he stepped one foot inside the temple, he would have the woman killed.

  And all the riches of Eden would be his.

  CHAPTER NINE

  Göbekli Tepe Site

  Southeast Turkey

  Alyssa Moore barely left her tent, choosing instead to remain within its hot confines as the desert sun blazed overhead. There were reliefs to be catalogued and studied, pillars and foundations to be examined, but no one denied her the right to mourn the loss of her father. Everyone at the site grieved by missing the man who was gentle and kind, a man who was congenial and never raised his voice or levied a curse in anger, a person who never failed to cast a smile, regardless of the pressures he was under.

  And as much as Alyssa followed in his shadow, she knew she was the polar opposite to what he was. She was sometimes impatient, not with others but with herself, always expecting perfection with everything she did, always trying to make her father proud when she knew that he was already proud. She wanted to be more, always going above and beyond, even when she knew she could reach no further. And whereas he was always politically correct and grounded, she was sometimes blunt and fiery with an acid tongue. But they made a great pair, their opposites creating a wonderful balance.

  As she sat there, she watched her father on the screen of the video phone as he was leaving for Eden. He was smiling and animated, speaking at the lens of the phone with childlike excitement. It was so good to see him like this, she thought. To see him loving life and what he did to the very end. How many people, she asked herself, truly loved what they did?

  Closing the lid of the phone and having every intention of transferring the video to a disc, she took stock of her surroundings. It looked as if a whirlwind had rushed through and cast everything about. Then she realized that she was the whirlwind, venting in a way of catharsis. As the day went on and the heat inside the tent became intolerable, she peeled back the flap and began to reassemble her life. She started by cleaning up the mess and setting papers and forms and photos into orderly fashion, and then rearranging her desk so that things made sense. In her way, she was trying to accept things as they were by moving on.

  “I saw the tent flap up,” said Noah. “So I took it as an invitation.”

  She turned and smiled. “You’re always welcome, Noah. You know that.”

  It was good for him to see her smile again, even if it was a false one. He looked around and made a face as if his surroundings met his approval. “Very nice,” he said. “It’s a far cry from yesterday.” He then looked at her with a paternal gaze. “I didn’t mean that to sound poorly. I just meant—”

  She cut him off by raising her hand, her palm toward him. “I know what you meant,” she told him. “I just thought it was time to move on.” She then opened her arms to indicate the inside of the tent. “So I thought I’d start here.”

  “Very good, my dear.”

  “Noah?”

  “Yes, Ms. Alyssa.”

  She always hated it when he called her Ms. She could remember bouncing off his knee as a little girl, always closer to him than she was with her own uncles. He could at least address her without the formality. “Noah, it’s just Alyssa,” she stated. “We went over this.”

  He smiled. “I so like to rile you,” he said. He stepped further into the tent. “It’s good to see you back to your old self again.”

  She raised a cautious finger. “I’m not there yet,” she said. “It’s still hard to let go.”

  His smile tapered off. “Yes, of course. I only meant that it’s good to see you moving on.”

  “That I am,” she said, moving to her desk.

  From Noah’s vantage point, he could not see what she was doing but he thought she was gathering documents of some kind and putting them in their proper place. “Ms. Aly—” He caught himself. “Alyssa?”

  The corner of her lip lifted into a smile. “Now you’re getting it,” she told him.

  “I need to know,” he began. “Are you ready enough?”

  She looked at him straight on. “To take over for my father, you mean?”

  He nodded his head, looking sheepish. “Yes.”

  “Noah . . . I’m always going to feel emptiness,” she said. “My father was everything to me. You know that. But I know that I have to move on, as well. So I need to gather my father’s records and schedule a plan. Are you up for that?”

  “Of course, my dear. But perhaps I can help.”

  “Noah, you’ve been by my father’s side for more than thirty years. I need you by my side too. I need your skills of interpretation.”

  Noah appeared stoic. “We will bring honor to your father’s legacy,” he said. “This discovery belongs to him.”

  “I agree.”

  He laid a few sheets of paperwork on her desk.

  “What’s this?”

  “Copies of notes from your father’s journal,” he answered. “They are entries regarding his excursion into Eden.”

  She picked them up as if they w
ere as fragile as old parchment. “Where did you get these?”

  He swallowed. “It appears that they were in the possession of Mr. Montario.”

  “And he didn’t give them to me?”

  “It appears that he wanted your father’s secrets to remain secrets. Perhaps, Alyssa, Mr. Montario was afraid that you would decipher the pages and determine the coordinates to Eden. In his own way, by keeping your father’s journal, perhaps he was trying to protect you.”

  She held up the encrypted sheets of paper. “And how did you get this?” she asked him.

  “It was with Mr. Montario’s belongings in New York, which were discovered soon after his accident. Your father’s property was then forwarded to me. So now I’m forwarding it to you.”

  She examined the pages, noting the archaic forms of her father’s writing. The forms were a scramble of different languages and symbols. “Thank you,” she finally told him.

  “I believe everything about Eden is there, including the coordinates. Knowing your father as I do, he would not neglect to write everything down for future reference.”

  She shook the papers. “They’ll be in here,” she replied.

  That’s what he wanted to hear. “Shall we prepare ourselves then?”

  “For?”

  “To seek out Eden and build on your father’s legacy.”

  She looked around the tent, at the documents on her desk and the photos. “I need to sum up my reports regarding the carved bas-reliefs,” she told him. Not only was it her father’s belief that the carvings of the creatures upon the Göbekli Tepe pillars had been indigenous life supported by rich fauna that no longer existed, it was also in direct correlation with his studies that this area was once a garden-like environment, suggesting that Eden may have existed in this part of the world before it had faded to a desert.

  “And there are other matters of preparation,” Noah said finally. “Not only will we have to gather sufficient amounts of lighting and gear but, given the plausibility of Mr. Montario’s statement, there is the matter of protection.”