The Lost Ark (22 page)

“A glow?” said the professor incredulously. “What the devil are you talking about, lad?”

Caesar and I stepped forward. We both saw it. A muted glow, the color of new grass, seemed to pulse from within. The pulsing could have been my imagination, but the light was there, nonetheless.

The professor said simply, waving his hand dismissively, “I think we’re seeing light from the upper portholes diffused throughout the ship, perhaps the reflection of moss or lichen.”

The hull of the ship angled gently down to the keel in the shape of a shoe box. Professor Roberts said, “Those who have studied the ark say it’s unsinkable.”

“That’s good,” said Wally. “Because it sure wasn’t designed for looks.”

Caesar ignored him. “You can see the slats for windows on the third deck. Biblical scholars propose that the top two decks were for the animals, and the lower deck was undoubtedly for waste and garbage. The eight crew members, which consists, of course, of Noah and his family, probably had living quarters on the top floor.”

“I see it before me,” said Wally. “But I don’t get it. Where did the animals come from and how did eight people care for them for…how long? Over a year?”

“Those are heated questions among scholars and critics alike; but, as you can see, we have the ultimate answer: we have the ark. Obviously, then, we can discover answers to your questions. Whether or not it’s the biblical ark, and whether or not it was used for the purposes as laid out in many of the world’s great religions, remains to be seen. Further study of the ark will no doubt reveal those answers—”

“Sam! Father!”

I spun around. Faye was at the entrance, struggling with a Kurdish soldier. She had run partially out onto the rock shelf, but now he was bringing her in, kicking and fighting.

“Sam, I’m so sorry!”

“Faye!” I ran forward, but then pulled up, sliding. Omar had appeared, followed by Farid and Kazeem and a half dozen soldiers, all blinking and shielding their eyes from the awesome glare of the white light.

Chapter Forty-eight

Emir Omar Ali looked ready for the grave. The fact that he had endured the long hike through the tunnel systems said much about the man’s constitution—and madness. To his left was Farid Bastian who stood like a huge granite statue, expressionless. He could have been staring at a cottage picture on a bathroom wall, rather than a timeless miracle. To Omar’s right was Kazeem, scowling. Behind, the soldiers had forgotten their military training, breaking ranks, standing on tip toes, trying to get a glimpse of the ark.

Faye was removed from view, although I could hear her struggling in the background—and hear the occasional grunt from a well-placed knee to the groin.

“Congratulations,” said Omar. “The three of you have stumbled across one of the greatest archaeological discoveries of all time. Enjoy it while you can.”

Omar closed his eyes and took a deep, ragged breath, as if restraining his soul from escaping through his mouth. And when he opened his eyes, he said casually, “Kill them, Farid.”

* * *

The big man leveled his weapon at us. We waited. Farid’s eyebrows knitted together in indecision. He took an impossibly long breath, filling those massive lungs, then lowered the gun. “I will not.”

I exhaled through clenched teeth. I hadn’t realized I was holding my breath.

Omar did not immediately respond. The fact that his faithful bodyguard had defied him was unimaginable. “You will kill them, Farid,” he said again.

In response, the bodyguard stared silently forward, the weapon pointed down.

Omar Ali moved quickly, snatching the weapon from Farid’s grasp. “Then I will do the job for you, you ungrateful pig.”

“I saw that one coming,” whispered Wally from the corner of his mouth.

Omar brought the gun up. The automatic weapon wobbled in his narrow arms, too heavy for him to control.

“Sam…,” whispered the professor.

“Be still,” I said, “The chances of him hitting us are slim.”

“That’s hardly reassuring.”

From here, I could see the emir’s finger tighten around the trigger. I stepped back, regardless, pressed against the ancient hull. As the emir’s finger tightened, curling around the trigger, I saw with some dismay that he
did
have control over the weapon.

We were sitting ducks.

Omar’s finger tightened around the trigger. He squeezed. But just as he did so, Farid reached out and knocked the weapon
up
. Flame spat from the barrel of the weapon. Bullets sprayed the ceiling, puncturing the ice. Cracks appeared overhead, zigzagging like bolts of lightening. The ceiling shattered with the sound of a thousand bones cracking in unison.

Ice slashed down from above, cutting through the air like a torrent of steel-bladed daggers, one of which knocked me forward, opening a wound in my shoulder. Another chunk fell beside me, crashing through the floor, which began to crumble away, disappearing into the black unknown.

I scrambled to my feet and moved quickly along the length of the great ship, holding my damaged shoulder. A shock of blue sky appeared in the growing hole above. The afternoon sun angled sharply into my face.

The ark suddenly lurched, its ancient timbers wrenching with the strain of movement, groaning with the sound of an ancient whalesong. The ship had awakened, breaking loose from its frozen moors.

And from the confusion, I heard my name shouted. I looked to my left, and saw the professor hunched over Wally. A sliver of ice, as long as an ice pick, protruded from the boy’s chest, pinning him to the floor.

* * *

Blood bubbled from Wally’s lips. His eyes were wide and wild, like a trapped animal. He threw his head from side to side, screaming. Caesar, at a loss, raised his horrified face up to me for help.

“I can’t move him,” he cried out. “He’s pinned to the floor.”

I did the only thing that I could. As Wally screamed, I pulled the shaft from his chest and blood gushed up like a geyser, quickly spreading over the ice floor, steaming. I put my hand to his chest to staunch the bleeding. Blood oozed between my fingers. Wally’s eyes rolled up into his head. He instantly passed out.

I picked him up. We moved aft down the length of the ark, dodging the humming shards of ice. Caesar followed the trail of blood. And there, just ahead, was the same small hole in the ship that Wally had found earlier.

“The hole is filled with ice,” shouted Caesar.

I removed the handgun from my waist, and fired into the hole. Three shots later I had blasted through the ice. Caesar scrambled in first, and I hoisted Wally up to him.

The ship shuddered violently, separating completely from the ice wall. Howling wind blew in through the massive opening in the ice wall once occupied by the ark. I jumped up and caught hold of the opening just as the ship spilled over the ledge and headed down the steep incline to the narrow canyon nine hundred feet below.

Chapter Forty-nine

Wind thundered over me. Bleak canyon walls swept past as the ship plummeted. I lay flat against the hull. I could have been riding the back of a killer whale, without the benefit of a dorsal fin. The vessel bucked—perhaps hitting an upthrust of rock—and I was tossed briefly into the air, only to land hard on my elbows and face.

I rapidly slid down the hull.

My fingernails raked the moss-covered wood, clawing desperately at the finely hued beams. But the fossilized wood was impossibly smooth, the ancient ship-builders remarkably precise in their construction. If I fell, I would by sucked under the ship and crushed into a bloody swath along the steep incline.

And then I saw the small dark hole, the only blemish on her smooth starboard side.

I reached desperately with my left hand—

And my fingers hooked into the jagged opening. My momentum swung me around like a compass needle. For the moment I was safe, and I hung by one hand and caught my breath as the canyon walls sped by with increasing speed. In that position, I had a brief glimpse of a lone mountain goat watching me curiously in mid-chew, grass hanging from its furry muzzle.

I pulled myself up into the hole and slipped down inside.

* * *

I fell through complete blackness until I slammed into something unmovable. A flash of light erupted in my head. I groaned, wondering if that piercing in my chest was a cracked rib or two.

As we continued to slide, the ancient timbers groaning in protest, we hit another bump, flipping me like a penny into the air again. I landed on my tail, and bounced like a pinball off unknown objects, until I hit my head on something very hard.

The explosion of light within my skull was very brief and bright, and I felt no pain, only the peaceful bliss of unconsciousness.

Tilt.

* * *

Like tiny, cold pin-pricks, I awoke to the stinging sensation of snow falling on my face. I opened my eyes and blinked. The world around me was blurred and amorphous. My head pulsed like a metronome.

I took inventory. Although breathing was difficult, my ribs didn’t appear cracked. My wrist hurt like hell, but I could still move my fingers enough to know it wasn’t broken—just a very bad sprain. Nothing else appeared damaged or missing. But then again, this was just a preliminary report.

I lifted my head (thus increasing the tempo of the metronome), and saw that I was partially covered in a thin blanket of snow, which continued to fall around me through a fresh rent in the ark’s roof. Above, purple storm clouds hung low in the sky.

As I sat up, a number of sharp pains shot through me, most notably my injured shoulder. I grunted like a very old man emerging from a day in his recliner. Instantly, a wave of dizziness swept over me. Nauseous, I turned my head to throw up what little food I had eaten, but nothing emerged. When the queasiness passed, I stood on wobbly legs.

Before me, as seen through the sifting snow, was a broad, and heavily damaged staircase made of wood so dark it appeared black. The staircase was pushed up through the floor, pulverized. The damage looked fresh and complete, the stairs useless.

I stood in a hallway on the upper deck. The professor had said the smaller animals would have been here. The rodents, smaller mammals, reptiles and probably even birds.

Unbelievable.

Lined on either side of the hallway were what appeared to be narrow compartments. I shook my head and grinned. “Stables,” I whispered.

I stepped carefully over the loose snow, and moved toward the small compartments. They were narrow, perhaps four feet by six feet, and some were slightly larger than others. Cramped quarters indeed, and if there had been doors on the stalls they were long gone by now. The walls of the stables rose fifteen feet, stopping three or four feet below the arched ceiling, which was crisscrossed with massive rafters.

I shook my head.
Unbelievable.

An icy wind moved down the hallway, stirring the snow like silt along an ocean floor. I suddenly cocked my head, listening. There was more than just snow on the wind. Shortly, it came again: a long, wavering moan, muffled and faint, and distinctively human.

I moved in the direction of the sound.

* * *

I found Caesar Roberts holding Wally Krispin in his arms. Frozen tears beaded his cheeks and icicles hung from his gray beard. Wally’s face was the color of the pallid sky above. Blood caked his jacket. The kid had bled to death.

I touched Caesar’s shoulder. He didn’t respond, as if my touch lacked substance, like a ghost returning to haunt the ship. Snowflakes swirled around us. I watched the flakes and listened to the sobs and didn’t know who to blame more for the kid’s death. Omar, for his madness. Caesar, for his obsession. Myself, for allowing it to happen. A kid shouldn’t be dead. It was wrong, and I felt a part of it.

I stood for a while behind the old man, who held the lanky body in his arms. The snow continued to swirl in an ancient dance and I closed my eyes and thought of the irony: a ship to save mankind, when mankind can’t save itself.

* * *

We laid Wally’s stiffening body in one of the narrow stables. A fine, wooden tomb.

I needed a cigarette.

Caesar’s nose was broken and would need to be set, although the cold of Ararat should keep the swelling down. Still, it looked like a red water balloon, forcing him to breathe loudly through his mouth. Together, we stood quietly a few stalls down from Wally’s tomb. Through the damaged roof above, the sky was darkening, and the snow was coming down with more determination.

I said, “We need to get out of here and get your daughter, professor.”

He said nothing. The only indication that he even heard me was that fresh tears appeared in the corners of his eyes. He made no attempt to wipe them away, and stood motionless, arms hanging down at his sides. I leaned against a stable wall. The wall was sturdy, even after all these years. Above, the wind whistled over the damaged roof. Some of the wind found my exposed skin, freezing me to the bone. My foul weather gear, ripped in numerous places, did little to keep the foul weather out. Purple clouds the size of small Balkan countries accumulated above. The clouds looked ready for business. The ark shifted its weight, settling deeper into the canyon.

Finally, the professor said, “Yes, Sam, let’s go get my daughter.”

I couldn’t have agreed more.

* * *

“Where’s the front door, professor?” I asked.

“The boarding ramp, or, as you put it, front door, would be on the bottom deck. But as you can see the stairs have been destroyed.”

“Any other ideas?”

Caesar frowned, and touched his broken nose. He winced immediately, realizing too late that it wasn’t a good idea to touch his broken nose. “How about the roof?”

“The roof’s inaccessible,” I said looking up. “And I don’t see a ladder.”

To the left, the hallway disappeared into total blackness. To the right, thirty feet away, the tunnel dead-ended into a shadowy wall.

“I propose we go left,” I said.

He raked his thick beard with his fingernails. Probably had a hell of an inch. “You’re the guide, Sam. And if we get lost, we eat you first.”