Pandora's Ark
Authors: Rick Jones
Tags: #Literature & Fiction, #Action & Adventure, #Mystery; Thriller & Suspense, #Thriller & Suspense, #War & Military, #Thrillers & Suspense, #Military, #Spies & Politics, #Terrorism, #Thriller, #Thrillers
PANDORA’S ARK
Book 4 of the Vatican Knights Series
Rick Jones
© 2012 Rick Jones. All rights reserved. Second Ed.
This is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places and
incidents are products of the author's imagination or are used fictitiously and
should not be construed as real. Any resemblance to actual events, locales,
organizations or persons, living or dead, is entirely coincidental.
No part of this book may be used or reproduced in any manner
whatsoever without written permission, except in the case of brief quotations
embodied in critical articles and reviews. For more information e-mail all
inquiries to: [email protected]
Visit Rick Jones on the World Wide Web at:
Visit the Hive Collective on the World Wide Web at:
Also by Rick Jones:
Vatican Knights Series
The Vatican Knights
Shepherd One
The Iscariot Agenda
Pandora's Ark
The Eden Series
The Crypts of Eden
The Menagerie
Familiar Stranger
Table
of Contents
Jerusalem
, 956 B.C.
At the precise moment of dawn when Jerusalem became capped
with a blood-red sky, the old priest stood along the edge of the parapet that
surrounded the city and measured the vast numbers of Shishak’s army that
stretched endlessly across the desert landscape.
Days earlier, runners brought forth news that
Shishak’s ranks had taken the city of Judah in the north, and planned to march
on Jerusalem for treasures of gold and coin to proffer to their false gods.
To the Hebrews he was known as Shishak. To the
Egyptians, Sheshong I, the warrior king of Egypt’s 22
nd
Dynasty, who
knew no boundaries when it came to war. With a league of 1200 chariots and
60,000 horsemen made up of Libyans, Sukkites and Cushites packed so close
together, not a foot of land could be seen between them.
As the old man stood there in examination a warm
breeze began to stir, causing his triangular-shaped beard to flag over his
shoulder as an undeniable sadness filled him with a horrible reality. Even with
the heat of the desert sun as an ally and towering walls to stop an approach,
they were not enough to counter the pharaoh’s army.
Jerusalem was about to fall.
High within the sentry towers horns blared in
warning, a harsh and caustic sound that galvanized the masses to frenzy. The
wealthy instinctively grabbed as many coins as they could, while those in lower
castes took arms to help bolster troops along the walls. Those who saw the
futility of challenging Shishak’s ranks, however, took flight through the
southern gates where they were met by the Sukkites, who cut them down with the
savageness of intoxicated hunters.
With the priest’s face bearing the weight and
looseness of a rubber mask, as his eyes watched the bone-cutting slaughter by
the wielding swords of Shishak’s army, he began to regard the treasures within
the Holy Temple. Physically challenged by age and infirmity within the joints
of his limbs, Abraham took to the ladder with the slowness of a bad dream and
began to descend the rungs, asking the Lord in silent prayer to give him enough
time to save the greatest of His gifts from Shishak’s authority.
Getting a foothold on Jerusalem’s soil with tiny
plumes of dust taking flight from the impact of his sandals touching down, the
priest fought his way through panicking masses in order to get to the Holy Temple.
The ornate columns, grand doorways and golden dome
of the temple appeared like something unattainable sitting at the very edge of
an endless road, the temple always too distant no matter how hard the old man
tried to close the gap between them, his glacial strides caused by his constant
struggle of wading through hordes of people who ran the streets with abandon.
When he finally reached the gateway he allowed his
eyes to gaze upon the horizon where he noted the colorful preface of a new day,
the moment of dawn when the warmth of the rose-colored light began to alight
upon his face. And for as long as he could the priest relished the moment,
knowing that this was going to be the last sunrise he would ever see again.
#
With
detailed examination
Shishak studied the city of Jerusalem from a distant
rise with eyes so dark they seemed without pupils. Yet as cruel as they
appeared, they also possessed great intelligence and the weight of supreme
confidence.
To the Jews he was known as Shishak. To the Egyptians, Sheshong I, the
warrior king of Egypt’s 22
nd
Dynasty who knew no boundaries when it
came to the atrocities of war.
Mounted on a white steed that possessed a mane as
blond as corn silk, Shishak sat as still as a Grecian statue overlooking his
troops. He was tall and lean, with skin the color of tanned leather. His head
was shaved, his physique strong, with a strong and firm jaw line that was
framed by rawboned features. In totality, with every cord and sinew of muscle
showcased beneath an ornamental collar of jeweled gold, Shishak looked his part
as the ‘Warrior King.’
Beside him was Darius, his most celebrated
lieutenant, whose skin was so dark that it resembled the color and sheen of
eggplant. The wide breadth of his shoulders, the large expanse of chest and
thickness of arms, had all been borne from years of wielding a weighted sword
and shield.
For the moment the lieutenant was having a problem
maintaining control of his horse, the mare whinnying, then rearing, its front
legs pawing the open air before settling under Darius’s control with a pull of
his reins.
“My king,” he said, gaining control, “the sky. The
color of blood is never a good omen. Even my steed senses ill forebodings.”
“Your steed,” he told Darius, before giving him a
sidelong glance, “does not bear the foresight of an oracle. The dark omen you
see is an omen issued from your own heart.” He turned back to view Jerusalem with passive repose. “Whereas you see menace,” he said evenly, “I see a sign
from Ra that the blood of our enemies will cover the ground and become one with
the sky.” He nodded, as if to confirm his thoughts. “Like those in Judah,” he added, “their blood will serve as a testament of our victory rather than the
dark prophecy you see it to be. Today the color red is a good color. And before
the day is through, Darius, the hooves of my stallion will leave imprints in
the sand that will be thick with the blood of our enemies.”
Shishak prodded his horse forward and surveyed his
army. The sheer number alone was incomprehensible. The terrain was laden with
soldiers as far as his eyes could see.
Pleased, he returned to Darius’s side. “Alert the
battalions,” he told him. “And prepare them for victory.”
“Aye, my King.” Darius then signaled to his field
commands to prepare for battle by raising his sword high, its blade silhouetted
against the blood-red sky, then rode along the front line shouting rants to
fuel the blood lust of 60,000 men.
When Darius returned to his position beside the
pharaoh he sheathed his sword. Around them Shishak’s warriors thrust their
pikes and swords in the air, chanting victory in the name of Ra.
“They’re at your command, my Lord.”
Shishak slid his sword from his jeweled scabbard
and raised it high, the cries of his army escalating, the anticipation of
battle now at fever pitch. He then turned to Darius with his eyes burning with
the eagerness to fight and thrust and kill. He would not sit back as a
spectator perched from afar, but engage in a bloodletting until the air smelled
ripe with copper. “I want all the riches within the Holy Temple,” he told him.
“Everything is to be proffered to the Temple of Ra, as homage to our
victories.”
“Aye, my King.”
“But we have to get there before the priests do,”
he added.
“The Sukkites are cutting a path through the city
from the north as we speak, my King.”
Shishak raised the point of his sword to its
highest point. “Then advance the others,” he ordered. “I want the
one
thing they covet most.”
“Our sources say that the most holy of treasures
sits in the Chamber’s center surrounded by mounds of gold.”
“Then let us claim what rightfully belongs to Ra,”
he said. And with that he pointed his sword in the direction of Jerusalem, which incited cries from his forces, and watched his army charge the city walls
with the intent to leave no one left alive.
#
In Jerusalem he
is called Abraham, a high-ranking
priest who is coveted by the masses and wise beyond his years. Yet in his
seventy-plus years of living he had grown so aged and weary that his flesh
looked like the tallow of melted wax, giving off the impression that he was as
ancient as the sands that surrounded the city. Though driven by conviction
despite the burning sensation in his lungs and growing heaviness in his legs,
Abraham hurried along darkened corridors toward the Sacred Vault with markedly
forced strides.
Before he reached the Chamber door, he came upon
three young men adorning the cowled robes of priests. They were not quite men
of stature, but boys on the cusp of growing their first beards that would
eventually identify their positions within the sacred hierarchy.
The moment they saw Abraham, a priest held his hand
out for the old man to grab in purchase to better steady him. With lungs
wheezing and his face taking on the pallor as pale as the underbelly of a fish,
Abraham was eased against a wall to calm him.
“You must find others,” he told the priests between
hitches of breathe. “When you do . . . then send them to the Sacred Chamber . .
. where I will meet them.”
“Is it Shishak?” a priest asked. “Is he moving on Jerusalem?”
The old man offered a hasty nod, then: “Hurry! We
haven’t much time!”
“What about you?”
Abraham waved his hand in dismissal. “I’ll be
fine,” he said. “Go!”
Without further questioning the priests moved with
urgency, leaving Abraham to gather enough strength to press on. With the
alacrity of an aged man in faltering condition, he made his way through the
hallways on legs that were going boneless. But his priestly convictions to save
the Lord’s treasure drove him forward by reserve alone.
As the old man descended the stairway the
atmosphere became sepulchral and dead, the air unmoving. On neighboring walls
his shadow danced with macabre twists as flames from the heads of wall torches
lapped the air. And in servitude to his Lord he begged for added strength, his
words no longer coming in whispers.
“Please, God! Give me the power to serve You in
this time of need. Give me the power to see this through.”
As the last word left his lips, Abraham reached the
landing of the Chamber’s floor.
Not less than twenty meters away stood the
bullet-shaped archway that led to the Sacred Vault.
After opening the thick wooden doors that were held
together by black steel bands and rivets, the sight of the treasure never
failing to steal away the old man’s breathe.
Along the walls several torches burned. The light
of their flames danced in play over every piece of gold, casting a spectacular
aura even from the smallest coin.
The Chamber was perfectly circular with pyramidal
mounds of gold and rubies and sapphires lying everywhere, some piles as high as
a man is tall. Against the wall opposite the Chamber doors were the Gold
Shields of Solomon, nearly three hundred in total, each glittering spangles of
gold as the light of the nearby torches reflected off their surfaces. But in
the center of the Chamber was the most coveted item of all, something that
carried brightness beyond what gold alone should have given it. Casting a
perfect nimbus in ethereal shades of yellow and white, sat the Ark of the
Covenant.
The high priest moved cautiously within its
spectacular golden glow—into a light that appeared to be alive—and with his
hands held out so that his palms faced ceiling-ward, he began to pray.
The Ark was brilliantly crafted, having been made
from the wood of the acacia tree and covered with the purest gold. It was a
cubit-and-a-half broad, a cubit-and-a-half high, and two cubits long with the
upper lid, the mercy seat, surrounded by a rim of gold. On each of the two
sides were two gold rings where two wooden poles are placed, so that the Ark could be carried. Situated on top of the Ark were two cherubim figures that faced each
other with the tips of their outspread wings touching the others, forming what
was considered to be the throne of God while the Ark itself was judged to be
His footstool.
With Shishak getting closer, Abraham prayed for
divine guidance, his answer coming in the form of eight men wearing hooded
robes with knotted ropes that cinched their waistlines.
“The poles,” said Abraham, pointing to the long
dowels covered with the decorative sheathing of gold. “We haven’t much time!”
Once the poles were inserted through the golden
loops and fixed, Abraham grabbed one of the torches and beckoned the priests to
follow.
Even with eight men The Ark of the Covenant was
quite heavy as each man labored to carry it across the Chamber floor.
With Abraham leading the way the light of his torch
lit upon an opening against the far wall. The access, however, was lost in
shadows so deep that the light of his torch barely penetrated the darkness,
until he was right upon it.
“This way,” he said.
The Covenant was led down a corridor, the
surrounding walls rough and poorly bored, the surface which they walked upon
often descending, then ascending, like the caps of rolling hills, a difficult
terrain to manage with such a heavy weight to transport. The ceiling was also
uneven, often rising and lowering in spaces which barely gave the Ark enough clearance. But at the corridor’s end lay a magnificent chamber, a second
chamber, one that was capped by a hand-smoothed dome that transitioned downward
into walls that were without blemish. In the center of the room lay an elevated
block of stone on which to rest the Ark upon.
After the priests settled the Ark upon the platform,
Abraham went along the chamber walls lighting one torch after the other, the
light reaching the Ark from all sides. As it did the Ark seemed to come alive
with something tangible and intangible at the same time, a spiritual force of
unbridled warmth that prompted the priests to take to a bended knee.
Abraham, however, stayed his feet and moved with
urgency.
Next to the last torch was a circular recess—a
hole—that was large enough for a man to reach up his shoulder. Reaching inside,
Abraham grabbed a steel ring and turned it counter-clockwise. And then the
earth came alive. There was a grinding noise as mammoth stones rubbed against
each other, the ground beneath them trembling, shaking, the entire chamber
floor threatening to open into a chasm.