“Not what you expected?” she asked after this had happened a few times. Rick glanced up to see her amber eyes watching him in the rear-view mirror.
“I’ve known plenty of wannabe warlords in my time. I’ll admit, few of them are quite this well-received.”
“Is that what you think I am? A poser, playing at being a despot?” Her voice was raised only to be heard above the rumble of the Humvee.
“You call yourself the Red Jackal,” Rick answered. “You have a pet dinosaur and you’re threatening to feed my friend to it.”
“And yet the people of Axum do not hate me as those in Addis do,” she said as they passed a group of waving children riding bikes on the side of the road.
“They live in fear.” It was Berhanu who spoke. Seated next to Rick, he’d been silent for the drive until now. His face was still a mess, but his voice came out strong and burning with anger. “Only because you have beaten them down, forced them to rely upon your generosity.” He spat the last word out like it was a bad egg.
“Have I?” Again, K’ebero sounded calm and conversational. “It was not my soldiers who began bombing their homes and setting fire to their fields.”
“You stop all attempts at bringing them aid. You patrol the streets with your stormtroopers. You kill your own men when they dare to make a mistake.”
“And in Addis, the rich keep the poor locked into their capitalist machine. The police make the rounds armed with military equipment, seeking out political dissidents and beating protesting students. Those who fall out of favor with the ruling political party are taken from their families and locked away forever. Are we really so different? Am I so much more terrible than your civilized society?”
Despite the swelling, Rick could see Berhanu’s face was twisted with anger. “Ethiopia is more than its government, as are all countries. My civilized society is made up of those who protest for what they believe in, not just the ones who beat them down. It is made up of the poor who struggle for a better life, not just the few who hold the majority of the wealth.” He paused for a moment, and when he next spoke his tone had softened somewhat. “I am not blind to the sins of my government. There is plenty I am not happy with. But you can not make the world a better place through violence. If you commit crimes in the name of a better future, then what are you really fighting for?”
K’ebero was silent for a moment. Rick wondered if Berhanu had actually gotten to her. “You speak like one who has never known true struggle,” she said finally, voice quiet. “You read about it online, hear about it second-hand, and you think that qualifies you to make proclamations about how the truly oppressed should behave. But until you have lived as one of them, you cannot understand.” She twisted around in her seat to look at Berhanu, her expression almost pitying. This close, Rick saw she was younger than him by a few years. “I do not blame you for this. You have been told all your life that the world is a certain way. That it is fair, that peace can engender peace.”
“Peace,” Berhanu said scathingly. “Is that what you claim to want?”
Her eyebrows rose. “Of course.” She turned back to face the windshield. They had entered a broad valley between two looming bluffs, populated with more struggling farmland. To the right of the road stood the fallen remains of a wind farm, the massive white turbines scattered in a jumble like the shattered bones of some long-dead colossus. “When Erta Ale erupted, the ash choked the crops and stopped the wind turbines from spinning. The aftershocks destroyed the roads and weakened infrastructure. Tigray called for aid from Addis Ababa, and aid was promised. A few shipments of food and supplies were sent. But the turbines were never repaired. New roads were never built. And eventually the food stopped coming. This, I knew, was an act of war against those deemed less than human by the oppressors. Even before Erta Ale awoke, they had been perpetuating violence against us. The ash killed the crops, but they had been struggling for years because of drought. Farmers sent their children south to attend school, find jobs, have a chance at better lives, but they were shunned for not being of the right class. The prosperity and the progress you claim to have witnessed has long been reserved for a select few.
“I knew, as I watched my family and my land and my people die, that the problem was not that they hated us. It was that they did not care, did not even notice us. So I decided to draw their attention. Words had not worked, so violence became my language. I attacked their wealth, and suddenly all of Ethiopia was paying attention. I created an emergency that fit their narrative, that would be recognized as such: the savage rabble, turned to war against the civilized world. I created a monster, named her the Red Jackal, and gave them something to fight against. Something to appear superior to in comparison. And suddenly, this land that had been neglected and dying for years was all they could speak about. Suddenly Addis Ababa would become the savior of the oppressed. They sent their relief and their soldiers, and for the first time my people were given the help they needed.”
K’ebero’s voice lowered. “But I knew it would not be enough. I knew the help would stop coming as soon as Addis Ababa decided K’ebero was no longer a real threat. I could not be this monster forever. Soon Addis Ababa would either kill me or forget about me. I knew, then, that I needed to truly free my people. Not just Tigray, but all of Ethiopia. To show them that they do not need the teet of Addis. To force them to become independent and strong, as the old Kingdom of Axum once was.”
Rick wasn’t sure what Berhanu had been expecting, but this didn’t seem to be it. He sounded genuinely surprised when he said, “But you haven’t made them strong! You’ve only weakened them, forcing them to rely on you instead of the government. You’ve brought war to an already-struggling land. You cannot honestly believe this is any better?”
“True change is a multigenerational project. It will not be completed in my lifetime, I know. But I have started it. Once the fire has raged through the land and burned away the chaff, there will be room for a new Ethiopia to rise. One that is truly united.”
Berhanu shook his head, apparently at a loss for words. Rick, however, sat up in his seat. “That’s what you want the Ark for, isn’t it? To legitimize your cause and rally the people behind you.”
Those amber eyes glanced at him in the mirror, her gaze penetrating. “The Ark is the birthright of all Ethiopian people, a symbol of what our country once was. With it, I will be able to remind them of our lost glory and show them where power truly lies.”
Berhanu snorted. “You are as deluded as every mad emperor that has gone before you.”
Rick ignored him. “But I don't get it. The Ark has been in Axum for millennia. You knew it was here. Why are you only just now interested?”
K’ebero shifted in her seat, and she seemed uncomfortable. “I…did not believe it was real. I knew the church held something that the people believed to be the Ark of the Covenant. I had heard the stories as often as any Ethiopian. But I did not have any faith to give them, and so I was content to let what I thought was a meaningless trinket remain in its sanctuary.”
She glanced in the mirror again. “But then Berhanu Abraham and his American colleague arrived and began searching. I was forced to reconsider, to wonder if what the church held could truly be the Ark. If it was, I knew I could not allow it to be taken by Addis Ababa or a foreign government.”
“So you decided to steal it for yourself,” Berhanu spat.
“The Ark is mine by right.” Without turning, K’ebero raised her left hand to show off a ring that Rick hadn’t noticed before. It was an ugly thing, little more than a chunk of iron. “This was given to me by my mother, who inherited it from hers, and she from hers. It has been passed down through my bloodline, from the very start of it, from the moment that it was given to Prince Menelik by King Solomon.”
“Oh, please,” Berhanu groaned. “You are not descended from Solomon. That line ended with Emperor Selassie.”
“From whom I am descended.”
“This is the ring of
Solomon?” Rick asked, leaning forward to examine it. It bore a sort of flattened disc that might at one time had been inscribed with a design, but had long since been worn away. All he could make out now were a few faint scratches.
“Yes.” K’ebero drew back her hand, the other rising to twist the ring on her finger. “It was the only material item my mother was able to give me when she died. She had told me the story, told me I was a -- a hidden princess. I thought that was all it was, a child’s story. But if the Ark is real, then perhaps…”
She trailed off, perhaps realizing that she had been saying all this aloud. Rick saw her glance at the driver, who had remained silent throughout. K’ebero shook her head. “Enough. We will arrive at Dungur soon. Then we will see if you are telling the truth, Berhanu Abraham.”
* * *
The ruins stood only a few miles west of Axum, beyond the city limits. Across the road stood a field of more obelisks like the one at the Ark sanctuary. It had clearly been a popular tourist spot at one point -- there was a parking lot off the highway and a large sign proclaiming DUNGUR in both English and Amharic. But in the years since trouble came to Axum, the place had been truly abandoned, adding an additional layer of disrepair to the crumbling stone. A barricade stood across the entrance to the ruins, warning of COLLAPSE DANGER in large red letters.
The caravan pulled into the parking lot, which was otherwise empty, and Rick and Berhanu disembarked at gunpoint. He squinted in the bright sun, taking in his surroundings. The rest of K’ebero’s army was already unloading, a good twenty or so men and women wearing the faded grey fatigues of the Free Army and toting assault rifles. A contingent immediately spread out to secure the area, while a few more moved to watch the highway. That still left more than a dozen to escort Rick, Berhanu, and K’ebero into the ruins.
Not good odds, he thought grimly.
“Take us to this hidden chamber,” K’ebero said, joining Rick and Berhanu. “Take me to the Ark.”
The curator stared at her silently for a moment; then, without a word, moved off towards the ruins, ignoring the barricade. Neither he nor Rick were bound in any way, and none of the soldiers hurried to intercept him. It hardly mattered. Even if he did suddenly make a break for it, he wouldn’t get far.
“Remember,” K’ebero said softly, walking beside Rick as they followed Berhanu. She raised a hand to show off her wristband. “Should you do anything foolish, it will take only a single call to send your friends to their deaths.”
“Thanks, I’d forgotten.”
Dungur had another name: Queen of Sheba Palace. This came from folklore and a desire to tempt tourists. In truth, it had no connection to the famous monarch, but instead had likely been the estate of some rich nobility back when Ethiopia had been the Kingdom of Axum. That didn’t make it any less impressive, however. At one point the complex had covered more than 3,000 square meters, a walled assemblage of multiple outbuildings and barracks around a central mansion. There was even a hypocaust, a type of central heating system that circulated warm air beneath the floors and through the walls. Add to all that the rather stunning view of the surrounding countryside, and it was easy to see that the place had once been fit for a queen, even if that queen hadn’t been the legendary Sheba.
Whatever it had once been, however, it was now just another archaeological curiosity. Only the lowest levels of the buildings remained, creating a sort of labyrinth of three-foot-high walls constructed of tightly-packed stones. A wide set of stone steps led up to what would have been the central mansion, but was now only a broad platform.
The army poured into the ruins with Rick and K’ebero at the lead. Berhanu was ahead of them, picking his way through the ruins. He seemed to be moving with a sense of purpose. Maybe there really was a hidden chamber. Up until now, Rick hadn’t been certain. The curator made his way down what would have been an alley to the right of the mansion, disappearing behind a rear corner. K’ebero barked a command, and a couple of soldiers jogged off after him. A few more climbed the stone steps up onto the platform, from where they could oversee Berhanu and survey the rest of the ruins.
A moment later, Rick and K’ebero caught up with Berhanu as well. He was standing at the rear of the mansion platform, flanked by the two soldiers. “Well?” K’ebero asked, looking around.
“It is here,” Berhanu said.
“There is nothing but more stone walls,” she growled.
Berhanu pointed down. At his feet, where the section of wall met the ground, was a square metal grate. It was clearly a recent addition to the ruins, but the bars were mottled with rust and had been grown over by weeds, so it couldn’t have been too recent.
“It leads to a cavity below the ruins,” Berhanu said. “To what remains of the hypocaust.”
K’ebero approached the grate, hands on her hips as she peered down through the bars. It was too dark to make out what lay below. “And the Ark is down there?”
Berhanu nodded, glancing briefly at Rick as he did so. Rick frowned, turning his attention back to the grate. Something about it bothered him.
Two-and-a-half cubits by one-and-a-half by one-and-a-half…
His heart sank. The opening isn’t big enough.
“What is it?” K’ebero asked sharply.
Rick looked up to see her watching him, eyes narrowed to suspicious amber slits. He shook his head. “Nothing. Just wishing I had known it was here before wasting my time at the sanctuary.”
He could tell that the lie hadn’t been quite convincing enough. K’ebero studied him for a moment, then half-turned to assess Berhanu. It was fortunate the curator’s face was so swollen, because Rick was pretty sure the man had no poker face. He fidgeted, shuffling his feet.
“Something is,” K’ebero began, then stopped. She tilted her head as if listening to something, then glanced up. “Shit.”
As one, Rick, Berhanu, and the other soldiers followed her gaze. High above them was a small black cross, silhouetted against the piercing blue sky. Maybe it was only because he was now aware of it, or maybe it was because everyone had fallen silent, but Rick could hear a faint buzz of engines.
“A drone,” he muttered. “I told you the military was moving in.”
“It is only reconnaissance. They do not know who they are looking for.” But she didn’t look convinced, her frame tense, her face contracted into a scowl.
“Pretty sure they’ll be able to figure out we’re not here to take pictures,” Rick said, still peering up at the drone. It was making a wide, lazy arc of the airspace over Dungur. Clearly it had found something that interested it. “How much you wanna bet the next one they send has some Hellfire missiles?”
K’ebero didn’t respond. Instead she turned on her heel, and at a barked command two of her soldiers came forward and kicked the metal grate until it burst from its frame and fell forward into the hypocaust, leaving a gaping hole in the ground.
“You,” she said, pointing to Berhanu with her pistol. “Go down first. Then you.” She gestured to Rick. “Then I will follow. And then we will see if you get to live another day.”
Rick could tell Berhanu was in no condition to do any climbing, but there was nothing for it. A soldier prodded him in the back with her rifle, and the curator stumbled forward. At the grass-tufted edge of the hole he went down onto hands and knees, then turned and awkwardly began to lower himself through the opening, every motion looking as if it caused him significant pain. There was a moment when only his face and hands were visible, and then Berhanu closed his eyes and let go, and slipped from view.
“I know, I know,” Rick said, before K’ebero could snap at him. He stepped forward and, in a single fluid motion, jumped down.
He landed on a floor of dirt and mud, packed down so hard it had become something closer to concrete. The rectangular space was as large as the footprint of the mansion that had once stood above it, set with regular rows of wooden support posts. Some had rotted away, but most remained standing, though they looked dry and b
rittle. Rick could hear the footsteps of the soldiers on the platform above him.
Berhanu was still picking himself up. Rick grabbed him by the shoulders and hauled him away from the shaft of light cast by the opening, into a darkened corner between the posts. “What the hell are you playing at?” he hissed. “As soon as K’ebero realizes the Ark isn’t down here she’ll kill us and everyone back at camp -- is that what you wanted?!”
The curator opened his mouth to respond, but the hard slap of boots cut him short. K’ebero had dropped into the hypocaust, pistol still drawn. It took her only a second to find the two of them in the darkness. She turned on her wristband’s light, sweeping it across the subterranean space. It was empty, save for the wooden posts. As Rick had known it would be.
“Where is it?” she demanded, blinding both Rick and Berhanu with her light.
“There is -- another passage,” the curator began, motioning to the side. Rick made out a low culvert, little more than a crawlspace branching off from the main chamber. He doubted Berhanu would have fit in there, let alone the Ark of the Covenant.
“Enough!” Her voice echoed sharply in the confined space. “Enough of your lies! I gave you the opportunity to save yourselves, to serve the greater good of Ethiopia, but clearly that was more than you deserved.”
“You do not represent the greater good,” Berhanu shot back, all pretense cast aside. “You are a criminal and a terrorist, nothing more!”
K’ebero lowered her light slightly. She was a slim shadow backlit by the hole in the ceiling. “And you are a dead fool. Nothing more.”
Berhanu drew himself up. Rick heard him take a deep breath, and when he spoke his voice had a husky quality to it. “I would rather die than hand the Ark over to a thief or a murderer.”
“Tell me where it is!” K’ebero burst suddenly. “Tell me now! Tell me!”
A Covenant of Thieves Page 38
