The Lost Ark (21 page)

* * *

Wally whistled. I felt a pleasure of goosebumps crop across my forearms.

“I think,” I said, “this is a clue.”

“Do you think Noah himself actually wrote this?” Wally asked.

Caesar, face red from bending over and reading the ancient text, stood and wiped the sweat from his brow. “Hard to say for sure. Most scholars, myself included, suspect that Noah’s ark was built in southern Mesopotamia, near the city of Shuruppak, which is identified in the
Gilgamesh Epic
. There’s plenty of reason to believe that Noah was a wealthy man, capable of hiring and organizing the construction of his ship. In Mesopotamia, writing had become a skill for every aspiring man to acquire. Noah could have acquired such skills himself. If so, then, yes, he could have written this.”

“Then who carved these pillars, and why?” asked Wally.

“Obviously they signify something of importance,” said the professor. “And my guess is that Noah and his sons did the carving.”

“Seems like a lot of work in such a gloomy place,” said the kid.

“Building the ark would have been a bigger task, lad. Perhaps they wanted to commensurate such a sacred vessel.”

Wally shrugged. “Fine; then where’s the ark?”

I studied the pillars, frowning. The twin stone columns were not only immense, but somehow familiar. I removed the folded map from my jacket. And there, above the burned hole, were two symbols that could easily be the two pillars. And, according to the map, Noah’s ark was directly behind the left symbol. Could the left symbol be, in fact, the left pillar?

I showed the map to the others. Caesar gasped and grabbed it out of my hands. “My God, you’re right Sam.”

“How could anything be behind the pillar?” asked Wally. “It’s solid stone.”

I thought about that as I ran my hand over the smooth surface. And that’s when I found it. A seam. Along with cool air. Very cool air. I smiled.

“These pillars are not hiding anything,” I said.

“What do you mean, Sam?” asked Caesar, turning to me.

“Sure, they’re here to mark something historic and sacred within, but mostly....” and now I pushed hard with my hand. The pillar didn’t move at first, but then something rather miraculous happened. The pillar rotated, spinning slowly inward. As the outer section of the pillar turned in, the section behind it appeared. And what appeared...was nothing. “But mostly, it’s just a fancy doorway,” I said, finishing.

Chapter Forty-five

We stepped into a narrow hallway, with smooth granite walls. The walls pulsed with the eerie white light. The ground vibrated again, and behind us the ramp rose like a drawbridge and slammed shut, sealing us in.

Our breaths fogged before us. The torches were unnecessary. I put mine out, and shoved it inside my jacket. The tunnel was very silent, and reminded me of a strange portal in some alien mother ship. The only noises were our breathing and the scrape of our boots. Wally was doing most of the scraping, following behind reluctantly. With each cautious step, the light became increasingly brighter, pouring into the tunnel as if through a rent in heaven. Before us, framed in the light, was another archway. This was our stop.

I looked out through the archway: the brilliance beyond was overwhelming. It took a moment for my eyes to adjust, but when they did, my breath caught in my trachea as if a hand had seized my throat.

“The ice cavern,” whispered Caesar.

And spanning the entire length of the canyon, enshrouded within a veil of ice, was the ghostly image of a massive wooden ship.

* * *

The ship looked sea-worthy to this day, as if caught in a frozen tidal wave, reminiscent of the frozen mastodons found whole and intact in the ice of Siberia, with the undigested food of their last meal still in their bellies.

Professor Caesar Roberts pressed his hands to his chest, lips moving silently, attempting to form words. Wally Krispin caught his breath and said, “Sweet mother of God.”

The cavern was oddly devoid of any sound. A frozen crypt. I sensed that I had stepped into something that was meant to be sealed forever, or found by someone more worthy than I. As if I were trespassing into the Holy of Holies.

There was no reluctance on the part of the professor. He stepped boldly onto the rock shelf, boots crunching on a thick layer of ice that coated the stone like a donut’s glaze. His footfalls echoed within the massive cavern. In fact, everything echoed. Every breath, every swish of clothing. The professor moved determinedly forward, like a thirsty desert horse with the smell of water in its nostrils, heedless of its master.

“Well,” said Wally, moving next to me. “I suppose we should go check it out.”

I nodded absently.

Wally and I stepped out onto the ice. “Where are we?” he asked me.

“This is a rock ledge
outside
the mountain. Surrounding us is the Abich II glacier, which somehow neglected to fill-in the entire ledge, leaving this cavernous air pocket. Thus the illusion of the ice cavern. A true oddity in nature.”

The sun refracted through the dome of ice. The source of the white light. It was beautiful, pure light.

“I would never have believed it,” he said. “It’s so unreal. I feel like I’m dreaming, or died and gone to Heaven’s Museum.”

I wondered absently how much time we had until our pursuers reached us—if they would reach us, although that dilemma now seemed irrelevant. The fact that Omar could use the very same map that we did was reason enough to error on the side of caution.

Our boots crunched over the ice. It was a very real sound in an unreal setting. The sun was high, but there was no warmth within the cavern. We followed behind the professor, who moved forward quickly and recklessly. Once his foot flew out from under him as if slipping on an invisible banana peal planted by Groucho Marx.

“Where are we?” asked Wally.

“We’re on the north face of Ararat,” I said, and noticed a slight quavering in my voice. I was not used to my voice quavering. “The ice above us is an extension of the Abich Glacier, flowing down the mountain, although neglecting to completely fill-in this rock shelf.”

With each step the structure seemed to grow in size, until it spanned our entire field of vision. Light-headed, I found breathing difficult. Also, I felt a sort of odd detachment, as if I were not truly part of events unfolding before me. As if I were in a dream, to awaken at any moment.

But it’s really here
.

The ark rose before us like a Celtic megalith, eternally solid, built for the ages. Built to carry the weight of the world. A thick layer of mostly clear ice, perhaps five or six feet thick, enshrouded the ark. The wooden craft seemed to undulate beneath the ice, like an image in a massive funhouse mirror.

The closer we got, the more detail I could make out. The ark appeared composed of massive hand-worked beams spanning hundreds of feet. The professor stood beneath the prow, looking up. With an unsteady hand, he caressed the ice just outside the hull. “Have you ever seen anything more beautiful in your life?”

“I sense that it’s sleeping,” said Wally. “Like a hibernating dragon, and if we’re not careful, it will awaken.”

I wondered what he meant by that, and had not realized how prophetic his words would be.

* * *

“I think I’m going to have a heart attack,” said the professor grinning, holding a hand to his chest. “But at least I will die happy!”

“How long is it?” asked Wally, rubbing the ice with the flat of his hand. Our three images stared at us from the ice. I could see that we were a motley crew, dirty and torn. But we were all grinning.

Caesar answered, as if speaking a rehearsed verse, “The length was to be 300 cubits, the breadth 50 cubits, and the height 30 cubits; or, roughly, 450 feet long, 75 feet wide, and 45 feet high.” Caesar paused. “If only Faye were here to see this. This would have put an end to her skepticism.”

My thoughts were on Faye as well. “We’ll find her, professor, as soon as we get out of here. I promise you that.”

Chapter Forty-six

Faye and the others were waiting in a narrow tunnel while the lead soldier once again consulted the map. Faye had grown accustomed to the hunger that gnawed at her insides like a slow-moving worm, as normal now as breathing. Faye stood next to Farid, which happened to be as far away from Kazeem as possible.

“How are you faring, Miss Roberts?” Farid asked in a whisper.

She looked up into broad, handsome face. “I would rather be home with a good book and a glass of Chablis.”

He grunted and removed his canteen and opened the lid for her. “It’s not wine,” he said. “But it will have to do.”

She was grateful beyond words. The cool water tasted both wonderful and awful, as if the canteen had never been cleaned. Water streamed down her neck and into her open shirt. Eventually gentle hands pried the canteen away from her. She heard herself thanking him over and over….

* * *

Boots creaked; metal jangled; clothing swished. The stench of old sweat was inescapable. Apparently, the soldiers had neglected to bathe for the occasion. Earlier, Faye had wanted to gag. Now she accepted the stench as an unavoidable part of her immediate future. Omar’s ragged breathing filled the entire tunnel. She secretly hoped he would keel over soon. The emir, however, kept plugging along, keeping pace with the group.

The temperature dropped. Faye’s breath fogged before her. Her legs felt heavy and tired. She rubbed her arms through her jacket, which was torn now in several places. Her mind drifted. She thought of her post at USC, her many students. One of whom she had had coffee with on many occasions. The thought brought a smile to her lips.

She was studying Farid’s massive shoulders and idly wondering if the kingdom of Arabia had any Big and Tall stores, when the bodyguard suddenly stopped. Faye bumped into him. She felt as if she had walked into a parked Volkswagen. “Sorry,” she said sheepishly

But Farid didn’t seem to notice. Instead, he was staring silently at the two immense objects that had materialized in the tunnel before them. Two stone columns, one on either side of the tunnel. Dust, churned by their many boots, rose up to obscure the columns. To Faye, the artifacts were surprisingly comforting. A touch of humanity in a dismal world of endless tunnels.

The lead soldier quickly consulted the map. Omar stood over him. Kazeem brushed roughly around her and stalked over to the other men, throwing his own beam of light across the map. Kazeem was almost as big as Farid.

“They grow them big in the desert,” she whispered to herself.

Faye moved closer to Farid. The big man sensed her presence and shifted his weight uncomfortably. Using the beam of light, he made slow circles in the dirt before him, illuminating the rounded toes of his massive boots.

“Why are you here, Farid?” she asked in a low voice. She found herself studying his face. Each feature was perfect, she decided. Just on a much larger scale than she was accustomed to. He looked like a warrior from the future. She felt incalculably safe in his presence.

“I do not understand your question,” he said simply, lips unmoving.

“Why do you associate with the emir?”

He was silent. Finally, he said simply, “I am paid to be here. It is an honor to be here.”

“Is it an honor to hunt down three innocent men?” she asked, gazing up into his face. He quickly averted his eyes and swallowed loudly. She continued, lowering her voice and touching his thick forearm with her fingertips. “Is it an honor to hold me captive?”

The circle of light increased in tempo, darting across his scarred boots. Sweat dotted his massive brow. “I do not wish to hold you captive, Miss Roberts.”

“Call me Faye.”

He looked down into her eyes. “It is not my will to hold you captive…Faye.”

“Then help me, Farid.”

“I am but one man.”

“You are quite a man.”

Faye was almost certain he was blushing. The flashlight fell silent, illuminating a small patch of dirt. “I will see what I can do,” he said.

* * *

Once again Faye found herself studying her father’s map with Omar hovering over her like a bird of prey. His breath was hot and wreaked of medicine and alcohol. Farid stood off to the side, hidden in shadows, although she felt his protective gaze.

Omar said, “You will decipher these words and tell us how to proceed. I expect nothing less than immediate results. You are useless to me otherwise.”

“It’s nice to be needed,” she said, stepping over to the right column. Almost immediately she determined that the inscriptions here predated much of the known written languages. The usual excitement of discovery coursed through her, but she reminded herself of her predicament.

She turned and faced Omar Ali. “Do I have your assurance, emir, that my father and the others will not be harmed?”

Omar almost laughed. “Why, of course, madam.”

She didn’t believe him, but she had little other choice. “Then I shall do my best.”

Chapter Forty-seven

Wally leaned in close to the ship, his big schnauzer just inches from the protective ice. “What kind of wood is this? Doesn’t look familiar.”

Caesar said, “The original Hebrew of the Old Testament refers to it as
gopherwood
; however, no one really knows what gopherwood is. Most scholars believe it to be in reference to cypress wood; or, less probable, oak, cedar or larch—all of which were used by various ancient civilizations for shipbuilding. Rather than a species of wood, gopherwood is also sometimes thought to be a process, one in which tree sap is used to make a plywood, generally considered superior than single lengths of wood. Genesis also states pitch was applied to the wood, both inside and out. It’s often thought to be a bituminous substance, a mixture of tar and petroleum, mixed with straw or reeds to make ships water-tight.”

“Look,” Wally said, pointing to something I had missed: a dark hole in her starboard side. Wally suddenly pressed his face up against the ice. “Do you see that?”

“Not with you in the way,” said Caesar.

Wally stepped away. “There seems to be a glow coming from within. It’s barely perceptible, sort of greenish.”