And he was responsible for their task today, millennia later.
The ancient relic was lifted from its platform, a seasonal event that saw it transferred from one secret location to another, and replaced with a fake, created with exacting precision that only an expert could tell the truth.
Something snapped.
Gasps and cries echoed in the small chamber as one side of the relic dropped toward the floor, the others quickly lowering the opposite side before the ancient vessel tumbled over, spilling its holy contents.
Father Amanuel lunged forward, his hands in front of him, hoping to hold the cover in place should it slip, then leaped back in horror as he realized that would involve touching it, something to be avoided if at all possible.
Or at the very least, vigorously discouraged.
Fortunately, the men at each of the four corners managed to safely return the relic to its resting place, everyone stepping away to catch their breath and stare at the pole that had just snapped after three thousand years of holding strong.
“What do we do now?” asked Harka, a trusted companion of many decades. “We can’t carry it like this, and it’s never to be touched except by the poles.”
Father Amanuel frowned as he paced around their charge, inspecting it for any other damage, and happily finding none. “It is starting to finally show its age.”
Harka grunted. “It’s been showing its age for centuries, if not longer. It’s finally giving in to its age.”
Amanuel nodded. “You’re right. Something must be done.”
“Like what?”
“This is the most precious gift to mankind ever granted us by God. It must be preserved.”
“But no one is allowed to see it!”
Amanuel sat on the floor, cross-legged, the others joining him in a circle. “Science is the answer.”
“What do you mean?”
“I’ve read of how museums around the world control the air so that the objects are preserved. It’s science far beyond me, but we need this type of technology if we’re going to have any hope of preventing further damage.”
“Science means scientists. That means outsiders.”
“Unfortunately, yes.”
“What about the Vatican? They have scientists.”
Amanuel vehemently shook his head. “Never. They’ll simply take it from us. They can never know we have it. Let them think we’re fools, con artists hoping to deceive. Their arrogance has worked well for us so far. I see no reason to risk that now.”
“Then who?”
“We need someone with expertise in preserving ancient things.”
Harka shook his head. “I wouldn’t even know what that is called. An archaeologist?”
They all paused, staring at each other as smiles spread.
Harka looked at Amanuel, his eyes wide. “Are you thinking what I’m thinking?”
“I believe so.”
“But who will go?”
Amanuel drew a deep breath. “This is something that must be done in person. I’ll go.”
“But you’re the Keeper! You’ve never left Ethiopia in your entire life! You don’t know what it’s like out there!”
Amanuel chuckled. “Do any of us?”
Harka frowned. “You’re right, of course.”
Amanuel leaned over and patted his friend on the knee. “Worry not, my friend. God will be my guide. He is always watching over us.”
4 |
Ethiopia 10th Century BC, 22 Years Later
“Why have you never told me of my father?”
Queen Makeda tensed, keeping her back to her son Menelik. The boy was no longer a boy. He was a man, a man who deserved the truth, no matter how disturbing, and shameful, it was.
Yet did he?
She had protected him from the truth for over twenty years. No one knew what had happened, not even her closest confidants.
It was something one simply didn’t speak of.
Yet without the truth, the apparent virgin birth had become legend within her kingdom, and Menelik revered as a great future leader who would guide his people with wisdom and the blessing of the Jewish god she now worshipped, as did many after they heard what she had been taught in Jerusalem by the boy’s father and his rabbis.
It had been this newfound faith that had helped her through the shocking discovery she was pregnant on the journey home, a fact she had kept hidden at first, but when it became impossible, had decided, stupidly she now realized, to deny any knowledge of how it had happened.
There were whispers in the corridors of the palace, of course, though none dared confront her with demands for the truth.
None except her beloved son.
“No, I haven’t spoken of him.”
Menelik rounded her chair and sat across from her. “Why is that? Is it true what they say?”
She regarded him. “And what is it they say?”
“That you were a virgin when I was born.”
She pursed her lips. “Not exactly something to ask of one’s mother, is it?”
Menelik flushed and turned his head, staring at a golden elephant that occupied the corner of the room, its tusks encrusted with jewels. “I suppose not.”
“Do you believe the stories?”
He shrugged. “If it were true, that I have no father, then that must mean my father is a god, perhaps even the Jewish god. But if that were true, if I were a demigod, then shouldn’t I feel different? Shouldn’t I have some sort of power that others don’t?”
She sighed, closing her eyes. “And if you were the son of a god, the son of God, what would you do with such power should you discover it?”
His eyes widened as he turned back toward her, her question clearly suggesting to him that his musings might indeed be true. “I would conquer our enemies, securing better lives for our people. I would protect us from those who would take what we have, and make certain our countrymen enjoyed bountiful harvests, many children, and freedom from the ravages of nature and man. I would rid our kingdom of the evil that lurks within.”
“All noble intentions. I’m impressed.”
“Thank you.”
“But do you think that power like this should be entrusted to a mere mortal?”
“What do you mean?”
She took a drink, resting her cup on the arm of her chair, swirling its contents. “It is said that evil lurks in the hearts of all men. Do you not feel it within your own?”
He shook his head vehemently. “Never!”
She eyed him. “Never?”
He flushed again. “Well, perhaps at times. But only when I’m really angry.”
“And do you forgive those that anger you?”
He nodded. “Yes.”
“All the time?”
He grunted. “Usually.”
“Which means they probably didn’t truly deserve your anger, did they?”
He sighed. “Yes, mother, you’re right, of course.” He stared at her. “And your point?”
“My point is this: if you had the power of a god when you were filled with such rage, would you have used it to strike out at those you were angry with? Would you have done irreparable harm, perhaps even killed them?”
Menelik drew a long, deep breath, his chest swelling as he considered her words, his eyes widening slightly. He exhaled loudly. “I fear I might have.”
She was pleased with his admission. “So, perhaps it is best that you are not blessed with the power of a god.”
He chuckled. “I suppose not.” He eyed her. “Is this your roundabout way of telling me my father isn’t a god?”
She smiled at him. “Yes.”
He leaped to his feet, his face bright. “Then you do know who my father is?”
She steeled herself for the revelation she was finally about to reveal, her mind made up that it was at last time someone knew the truth, and if not her son, then who? “Yes.”
He rushed forward, dropping to his knees at her feet, taking her hands in his,
almost knocking the cup from its perch. “Please, mother, tell me who it is!”
She drew a breath, then revealed the secret that had eaten away at her for over two decades. “King Solomon.”
He fell backward, his eyes wide, his mouth agape. “The wise one you told me of? The king of the Israelites in Jerusalem?”
She nodded. “Yes.”
“But how? I mean, why? I mean…” He pushed to his feet and paced in front of her, muttering to himself before finally stopping and facing her. “Please, tell me how this could be true?”
She inhaled through her nose, her heart pounding, her palms sweaty as memories of that night, memories she had tried, and failed, to bury for so long, flooded back. Her eyes glistened and her ever faithful son noticed, returning to his knees and taking her hands.
“You don’t have to tell me, if doing so will cause you pain.”
A tear rolled down her cheek and she reached out for him, caressing his face, a face too much like his father’s, and a constant reminder of the pain and humiliation she had suffered so long ago.
A trauma that had her never taking a husband, never having another child, never enjoying the pleasures of the flesh again.
Her jaw squared and she shook her head. “No, you must know. It is time.” She took a short breath then exhaled quickly, the words spilling out rapidly before she changed her mind. “On the night before I left Jerusalem, King Solomon tricked me into an oath that I was forced to break due to his treachery, and he then raped me.”
Menelik’s nostrils flared and his eyes shot wide as his entire body clenched with anger, his chest heaving at her words. “My father took…he took your…” He stood, growling with anger, his fists clenched as he resumed pacing. He punched his palm then stopped. “I’m going to kill him.”
She wiped the tears from her face, shaking her head. “No, that could lead to war.”
“I don’t care. He must pay for what he has done.”
She rose, reaching out and taking his clenched fists in hers. “It has been over twenty years. He may be dead.”
“Word would have reached us.”
She frowned, for the boy was right.
“I want to meet him. To tell him that I know what he has done, and that I want nothing to do with him.”
She sighed. “That is your right, of course.” She took his chin in her hand and forced him to look her in the eyes. “But you mustn’t kill him. You mustn’t start a war that could lead to the death of our people.”
He glared at her for a moment, then his shoulders slumped. “Very well. Once again, as always, you’re right.”
She smiled, patting his cheek. “You’re a smart boy.”
“I get it from you.”
If only that were true.
“When will you leave?”
“As soon as I can.”
She headed for her bedchambers. “If you are determined to meet your father, then there is something I must give you.”
Menelik followed her. “What?”
“Something that proves to Solomon who you are.” She shivered. “Something he gave me after he was done with me.”
5 |
Bole International Airport Addis Ababa, Ethiopia Present Day
“Father Amanuel is boarding now.”
“Destination?”
Dawit Ganno frowned. “London.”
“And our sources have no idea why he’s going there?”
“None.”
“I guess you’re right, we have to know.”
Ganno headed for the gate. “I’ve booked a ticket on the same flight.”
“Isn’t that risky? What if he recognizes you?”
Ganno smiled at the woman at the gate as he handed her his passport and boarding pass. “He’s never met me. They’ve never met any of us. That’s the entire point of being a secret order that no one knows about.”
“He may not know what you do, but he might have seen you driving by.”
Ganno grunted. “Then it will simply be a happy coincidence, and nothing else will be said beyond pleasantries.” He bowed slightly at the return of his documents and headed for the jetway. “And when I return, we will discuss my previous desire to have more of our members abroad. To think we have no one in England is ridiculous. This should be a phone call, not a flight.”
“You’re right, of course. But it’s expensive to keep people around the world. Our man in the United States costs us handsomely.”
Ganno sighed. His brother was right, and it was why the idea had been dropped after they had sent one of their own to New York City over a decade ago. When the bills started pouring in, they realized they simply didn’t have the money for too many of these types of operatives. For now, they had one in Jerusalem, one in Rome, and one in New York City. That was it.
And it was already too expensive.
“Do you think he’s going to reveal the secret?”
Ganno frowned. “I hope not, but something is going on. He’s never left the country. No Keeper has.”
“And if he does? What will you do?”
“If I think he’s revealed the secret to anyone, I’ll do what must be done.”
“You mean kill him.”
Ganno’s frown deepened. “If necessary, though hopefully only those he tells. The secret must be preserved.”
“Of course.”
“Praise be to Menelik and Tamrin, and to our Lord, Jesus Christ.”
6 |
Royal Palace of King Solomon Jerusalem, Kingdom of Israel 10th Century BC
As Menelik’s father spoke to those gathered, he absentmindedly spun the ring his mother had given him before his departure. His initial encounter hadn’t gone as planned. He had intended to announce who he was then demand retribution for what King Solomon had done to his mother. Instead, the moment he had shown the man the ring given to his mother the night of her rape, Menelik had been embraced, genuine tears rushing down the cheeks of the man he had grown to hate over his long journey to Jerusalem.
Solomon had given him no time to spew the vitriolic denunciation Menelik had rehearsed during his voyage, and instead had announced to those gathered that his son had returned to him, and that it was a great day for the kingdom. He was peppered with questions with little if any time given for him to respond, and praise was heaped upon his mother, as if the rape had never occurred, or had been completely forgotten.
Or to Solomon, it never was rape.
He hadn’t known how to react.
His father had turned out to not be the monster he had imagined, but instead an incredibly charismatic, captivating man. Intelligent, articulate, immaculate. His people both respected him and genuinely liked him, though he knew from his mother’s court that facades were always on display in her presence.
One never made one’s regent aware of any ill will.
And before that first night was through, Menelik was ashamed to admit he had been won over by the man. Not completely, but enough to delay any public humiliation he had planned.
And as the days progressed, and no opportune moment was found to confront the man, it became clear his father was incredibly pleased with his return.
“I want you to stay.”
Menelik spun the ring again, still not used to wearing it, the pure gold, jewel-encrusted creation a constant reminder of his mother’s betrayal. Solomon had raped her, then convinced he had impregnated her, given her the ring before her departure so when his son returned, Solomon would know it was him.
The ring had done its job, giving him access to Solomon within minutes of his arrival, the large royal procession also greasing the wheels. But the moment the ring had been spotted, Solomon’s demeanor had changed from curiosity to, from all outward appearances, love for a son long lost.
“I must return home to my people.”
“Your mother is a capable woman. She can take care of them.”
“For now, yes, but in time it will be my job to lead my people.”
Solomon motio
ned for him to sit closer to him, and Menelik complied. “And you will. I want you to remain and be my heir. Your kingdom will unite with mine, guaranteeing your people’s protection.”
Menelik regarded his father for a moment, then shook his head. “It is too far for you to offer any type of protection.”
Solomon smiled. “You truly are a leader. Your first concern is your people, rather than the wealth and power I have just offered you.” He gripped Menelik’s shoulder, squeezing it. “You indeed are my son.”
Menelik shoved his emotions deep, still reluctant to give into the charms of the man, but unsure of what he should do. He had no intentions of staying, no intentions of becoming king of a people he knew little about. He had been taught the language by scholars brought to the kingdom at the behest of his mother, her insistence he learn a language from a foreign land perhaps the first clue he had missed as to his origins.
Yet despite the fact he could converse comfortably with those around him, and despite the fact he worshipped their god—though perhaps without the same fervor—he felt as if he were an outsider.
And he had little doubt these people would never welcome a king whose bloodline wasn’t entirely Jewish.
Solomon rose and beckoned for him to follow. “Come, I have something to show you that might change your mind.”
Menelik hastened to catch up to his father, the old man still fleet of foot. “What?”
“Something very old. Very ancient.” His father lowered his voice. “And very powerful.”
Menelik’s eyes widened slightly, intrigued at the gravitas conveyed by his father’s words. “Powerful?”
Solomon nodded as they left the palace walls and made for the temple, the king’s personal guard, as well as Menelik’s, rushing to clear the way. “Yes. With it, my armies wield the power of God Himself.”
Menelik’s eyes narrowed, not one to believe in the power of talismans or the like. “And just what power does this…thing, wield, that could buttress an army?”
They entered the impressive structure, shown to him earlier in his visit, the guards clearing out the worshippers as they passed through the public area and into the back, down a set of winding stairs, the only light now provided by torches held by sconces mounted to the ancient walls. Solomon led him down a long hallway where an impressive, carved door stood, two guards on either side.
Keepers of the Lost Ark Page 2
