Prophecy (21 page)

Winters had one more piece of fantastical news; he hoped no one would call him on it. “The good news is that Ms. Carpenter never planned to disappear permanently. Even if we believe that she’ll keep up the illusion of being someone else forever in order to blend in with the masses, she’ll still be finding kidnapped children and drug dealers and murderers, and there would go her cover.

“No. She constructed this elaborate scheme so she would not be followed.” Gabriel’s voice dropped to a low, confidential tone as he leaned forward.

“Bottom line: she doesn’t want us to know where she’s gone.” It was more than enough for them to handle; however, several questions remained unanswered. And trust the Chief to ask them.

“How do you know all this? And what is she going to do while she’s away? And why would she contact you? Her message was crystal clear. I’d venture to say she’s tied you and your government affiliation together in one tidy package of hate. You’re just lucky she didn’t turn that rage on you.”

Without hesitation, Winters replied, “How do I know this? Intuition. And maybe she planted all this in my mind. She can do it if she wants to. That’s all I can tell you.

“Of course I was initially concerned for my life even though I saw her hold back until Bellini and French were out of harm’s way. But maybe it was in the way she looked at me before she strolled back into the house, combined with what my head told me.”

His suppositions seemed to mollify them. Gabriel didn’t need intuition to tell him she was on her way home because last night she told him so.

He had finally fallen asleep. In what he assumed was a dream, he found himself sitting on a crumbling brick wall on Calhoun Street overlooking the old basketball court where he shot hoops as a teenager. It was unnerving. He thought those memories forever buried, along with the bullet riddled body of his older brother, Lawrence.

Mariah sat beside him, dangling her bare legs over the wall. He asked questions and she ignored them. He telepathically received the facts: she would return and would call him. She also forced him to feel the rage in her heart at his betrayal, the hurt his mistrust generated in not believing she would have let the scientists test her if he’d been up front from the beginning. And finally, the gut wrenching misery at the unnecessary loss of her friend, Frannie Manzetti.

For the first time in over three decades, Gabriel Winters felt regret. The bad streets of Chicago had taught him not to trust anyone but himself. The military had taught him how to work with a group but, in the end, to rely on no one but himself. Being a lawyer had taught him to camouflage his emotions, how to lie and deceive, and how to play the game to get what he wanted. And the CIA? They just reinforced his previous lessons in self-reliance, paranoia, and deception.

With a polite nod at Thomas, the Ethiopian led them down a hallway to the last gate. It was silent here; no travelers, no airline personnel. He held the door open as they exited the terminal, heading for the small twin engine aircraft parked fifty feet ahead on the tarmac.

With the sun gone, an evening breeze tried to cool the oppressive air, but the concrete still radiated heat in shimmering waves. It was a relief when the hatch closed behind them and the pilot cranked up the air-cooling system. Thomas took a seat, smiling as Mariah winked and dropped the image of Dennis Roberts. She hadn’t spoken since their arrival in Addis Ababa; he knew she was focused on events to come and would speak when she was ready.

A little sigh of pleasure escaped her lips as she stripped out of the clothing she’d been wearing for over nineteen hours. Padding over to a large woven basket tied to a seat, Mariah lifted out a large silver Thermos filled with water, a bar of soap, a washcloth, and a towel. Soaking the washcloth in the water, she smiled delightedly as she rubbed the soap into the washcloth and ran it over her body, washing away sweat and travel dirt.

The changes to her physique were not just the four inches of additional height. Previously, her body lacked muscle tone due to sporadic exercise. Now she looked like a trained athlete.

Dispassionately, Thomas viewed her slightly rounded stomach (from that little four-pack she now sported) and tight buttocks. He watched her biceps flex and relax with her ablutions, her calf and thigh muscles contracting as she dried herself with the towel. He tried to ignore the light tawny color of her skin by concentrating on the pair of high cut bikini panties she tugged on.

When he felt his body respond, he grinned. She pretended to ignore him as she pulled on a powder blue t-shirt over breasts that were now firm enough for her to forego wearing a bra. As she slid into loose cotton slacks two shades darker than the shirt, he figured she didn’t carry any more than ten percent body fat.

Rummaging in the basket, Mariah took out another Thermos and several containers of food, handing them to him to be opened. After eating a few mouthfuls, she finally broke her silence to identify not only the ginger, garlic, and green chilies in the sauce that coated the beef strips, but the more unusual spices of cinnamon, cloves, and cardamom. Wrapping the beef in soft pliable bread with a faint sourdough taste she called
injera
, they ate with relish, finishing their meal with two blocks of goat’s cheese and two large succulent oranges. It was all washed down with the water from the two Thermoses.

The aircraft had not moved until this point. As if given a signal, the engines roared to life and Mariah buckled into the seat across from Thomas. She reached for his hand, holding it in both of hers. “I’ll never understand why you put up with so much from me, but I’m grateful you’re in my life. I don’t know how I would’ve kept my sanity through all this if it weren’t for your support.

“I’d like to promise you that my ‘quest’—for lack of a better word—is coming to an end, and that you and I can lead a normal life when it’s over. But you know and I know that I’d be lying, and I’ll never do that to you.”

The smile on his lips faltered as she became more solemn. “I need to say something now because there may not be a more opportune time. I want you to know that I’ll totally understand when you can’t take any more. You’ve tried to reassure me that I’d have to kick you out before you’d leave, but things change. Just know that you’re the best thing that’s ever happened to me, and even though we might not have a future together, I wouldn’t trade one second of our relationship even knowing the pain I’ll be in when it’s over.”

Thomas squeezed her hand, his smile strained. He couldn’t refute her words. His heart told him that she might be right. He loved her as he had never loved another, and knew that he would stay with her as long as she was the woman he had fallen in love with, but these changes ... well, he’d have to make a decision at some point, but it wasn’t now.

“I’d be happy if you’d answer a few questions for me,” Thomas began. “Like, when did you make these flight reservations? And where are we going ... and why?”

Unlike her brother who tried to make her feel guilty about hiding things, Thomas was direct. She grinned and said, “Sorry, I’ve been pretty secretive. You’ve been dragged halfway around the world and you have a right to know why.

“We’re going to Axum, considered by Ethiopians to be their most sacred city for two reasons. First, because Ethiopian Christianity was born there; and second, it’s where the Ark of the Covenant has been hidden for thousands of years. And the flight reservations were made for us. Let’s just say I’m expected.”

She saw fear, excitement, and confusion in his eyes. He opened his mouth to speak and she held up her hand before he could. “Let me give you a condensed history of Axum and its relationship to the Ark. It might answer some of your questions.

“The Ethiopians claim Makeda, the Queen of Sheba, as one of their own,” she began. “History has no absolute proof she existed, but when you’ve had a story told from generation to generation, you believe.

“While on a pilgrimage in Jerusalem, she had an affair with King Solomon. On her way back to her home land, Makeda discovered she was pregnant. There weren’t any DNA tests to establish the baby’s paternity, so, being a smart lady, she named the baby Menelik which, in Ethiopian, means ‘son of the wise man.’

“When Menelik was a young man, he went to Israel to meet his father. Even though he was a bastard, Solomon acknowledged him as his son and treated him accordingly.” Her eyes glowed, her hands tightened around his and a gleam of excitement came into her eyes.

“The elders were jealous of the attention Solomon paid Menelik and insisted he send the boy back to Ethiopia. Solomon reluctantly agreed but under one condition: that the first born sons of all the elders accompany his son. He wasn’t stupid. He figured the elders planned for his son’s ship to never make it home. Now they’d have to call off sinking the ship. The Ethiopians are positive it was one of these other boys who stole the Ark from the Holy Temple but never revealed it to Menelik until they were out to sea. Others believe Solomon had a vision and saw his city sacked by Nebuchadnezzar and the Ark destroyed, so he gave it to Menelik for safekeeping.

“The Ark came with many powerful curses. For example, it’s said to inflict tumors and cause severe burns, plus level mountains, wipe out armies, and destroy cities. Since nothing happened to those on board his ship, Menelik was convinced God wanted him to protect it.”

She paused to let Thomas ask his questions. “Geez, Mariah, it sounds bizarre to me. I’m not much of a bible scholar and know less about the Old Testament than I do about the new one, but I don’t remember hearing about this in Sunday School. Wouldn’t this have been a pretty important piece of information for the Hebrews to put in the Bible?”

She took a deep breath and continued her story. “Correct. However, the Ark of the Covenant vanished from the scriptures
after
the reign of Solomon. I mean, not
one single word
was ever mentioned about it again. Something that sacred to the Hebrews, the cornerstone of their religion, the reason Solomon built the first temple in Jerusalem, could
never
have been stolen or destroyed without pages upon pages of laments. The theory is that God wanted it hidden before the armies of Nebuchadnezzar burned Jerusalem,” Mariah concluded.

“Okay, let me get this straight,” Thomas said, a slight frown on his face. “We, you and I, are going to Axum. And the Ethiopians are going to hand over the Ark of the Covenant to us.”

She giggled. “Absolutely not. Well, not exactly. I don’t want the whole Ark—just something inside it.”

“Of course. What was I thinking? We don’t want the whole thing, we just want the stone tablets God gave to Moses on Mt. Sinai.”

She laughed at how ridiculous it must sound. “Don’t get caught up in that old Cecil B. DeMille movie with Charlton Heston and the bolts of lightning etching the stone tablets. The commandments were actually written on papyrus, but that’s beside the point. That’s not what I came to get. It’s something else.”

Thomas shook his head. “Much better. We’re going to knock on the door of the temple and when the rabbi or priest or whoever answers, we’ll just ask if we can rummage through the Ark so we can pick out something.”

His voice rose as this all became more shocking. “And why do you want whatever is in there? Do you know how wacky this sounds? Man,
this
is the damnedest thing, without a doubt!” Thomas threw his arms up in a gesture of defeat.

He dropped his arms and stared at her. In a voice filled with wonder, he said, “It’s the dream about the Kana Gidrol, isn’t it, Mariah. By the way, what does that mean?”

“‘Kana Gidrol’ is
Kohen Gadol
, the Yiddish word for ‘High Priest of Judaism’,” she replied. “Only a man of the
kohenim
, the priestly class, can attain this position. And the title has meaning only when there’s a Holy Temple where they can perform sacrifices. To the Jews, there is currently no such temple. Therefore, no
Kohen Gadol
exists.” She became more animated, her voice cresting in waves of exhilaration. “The reason I have to get something out of the Ark? I have no freaking idea, Thomas. I just know I have to. I’ve been prodded along this path since the
Visitation
. Sometimes I think I know why all this is happening, but I just can’t put it into words. Remember, I thought I was dreaming when I ventured onto some alien planet and it wound up being an astral projection.”

Thomas began to chuckle. Mariah was amazed that he could find something humorous in all this.

“Say,” he said, the laughter still in his voice, “do you think Steven Spielberg would be interested in another sequel to
Raiders of the Lost Ark
?”

A glint appeared in Mariah’s eyes. “We’ll just have to call him when we get back, won’t we.”

Thomas leaned back in the chair like he expected something to be hurled his way. “Uh, oh. I know what that look means. Here it comes!” he cried as he made the sign of a cross with his two index fingers and held them before her.

Mariah said sweetly, “And I have the perfect title for it:
She Raids the Lost Ark
!”

Thomas groaned loudly and joined her in laughter. It certainly helped to release the tension. As the aircraft began its descent, she felt his heart begin to beat rapidly, his excitement matching her own. Mariah purposely hadn’t given him more information: there was just so much he could absorb even though he had more capacity for adjusting to extreme changes than most
.

I’m thrilled he has such a tremendous love of adventure
, Mariah thought,
because he’s going to need it
—
and then some
.

Twin spheroids bobbed erratically, attempting to match the pace of the tall figure cloaked and hooded in stygian black. At times their light caused his shadow to loom ahead, as if eager to arrive at their destination first. At others, it would fall back as though apprehensive of what it would find when it arrived.

The last turn brought the Shadow to a short corridor ending at a rock wall. Without slowing his pace, his amber eyes narrowed. The holographic image of solid stone disappeared.

Halfway across the floor of the chamber, he stopped before a massive structure. As he tilted his head upward, the hood covering his head slid off, the feeble light revealing deep creases in his cheeks and forehead. Ebony pupils surrounded by red irises stared without blinking. Harsh, angular planes of cranial bone seemingly carved in the same granite as the walls surrounding him completing the austere visage.

But his countenance softened slightly as he gazed upon the arcane symbols carved at the top of the edifice. He closed his eyes momentarily, right hand covering the insignia on his garment, left hand stretched out in supplication. Intoning his customary prayer of devotion to the Great and Glorious
,
he appended an apology at the end for his hasty reverent and hastier retreat.

The tall one quickly ascended the stone staircase carved into the granite behind the last tier. When he reached the last step of this stairway, he stopped. As before, his eyes narrowed; however, this time he needed to expend more psychic energy to remove the holograph.

As it collapsed, a solitary figure was revealed in the room standing expectantly before a wall of vid-screens. The Shadow crossed the threshold and turned to reestablish the holograph overlay. When done, it turned to approach the one who had summoned him. His greeting, while brief, was respectful.

“Shal’amal’kan.”

“And to you Shel’Zib
.
May Truth the Beacon be to Guide you to the Great and Glorious
,
He who willyour Spirit bathe in His Brilliance for ever more.” He inclined his head deferentially. “I beg a pardon for the potential danger this unscheduled visit may have caused. Notwithstanding, the information is critical and cannot wait.”

The Anorasian nodded then removed the cloak and seated himself before the screen. “No need to apologize, Chazreen. Your judgment is always above reproach.”

Bov’shiatvan, the Chazreen of the Transformed, smiled into the unblinking eyes of his mentor, not expecting—or receiving—one in return. As his fingers reached toward the console to play the re-sequenced data just scanned, he said, “At this point I should know never to question your assessment. As usual, you were correct.”

The vid-screen came to life with a flash of green. The Shel’Zib stared without visible signs of emotion, his attention riveted on the figure in the screen. Behind him
,
Bov’shiatvan unconsciously shook his head. Even though this was the second time he viewed the data, his mind still refused to believe what his eyes beheld.

Although the satellite saw only the figure’s back, there was no doubt it was the Hevru female. She stood on a small strip of land behind her domicile, her arms by her side, both hands fisted. She and the male beside her were staring up an incline dotted with variant forms of native vegetation.

The reason was obvious: an iridescent haze had coalesced around a transport vehicle. The increase of energy in the subatomic particulate had caused small reactive charges to arrow from the vehicle as the dynamism increased.

Both Anorasians, their gazes never wavering, watched as the haze divided and reformed at each end of the vehicle. When the separate fields began to form in the shape of hands, the eyes of the Shel’Zib widened. His face continued to transform as the vehicle began to decrease in mass until something within ruptured and it became a conflagration. Pieces of its metal hull and contents randomly exploded outward. The
Shel’Zib’s
hot stare intensified. The glowing numerals—6.0—appeared on the vid-screen.

When the female returned to her living quarters and metamorphosed into a male, he sprang to his feet, a wolf’s smile on his lips. “Glory be to the Light,” he intoned in a voice barely above a whisper. “This must be the Word of the Prophecy coming to bear.”

Bov’shiatvan was startled, never having witnessed such a display of emotions from the High Priest. Hesitantly he said, “Thrilled am I that the Great and Glorious has fulfilled Netsor’ah. Am I privileged to share your joy?”

The Shel’Zib turned to face his Chazreen, bringing himself under control with great effort. “Apologies, trusted colleague. Of course you shall share in the knowledge. Just as the Empire shall share in the enlightenment soon to come.”

Then Galaxaril, Minister of Finance, head of the Synadracus, most despised in the Empire next to the Min’yel’os—and Shel’Zib of the Transformed—grasped the shoulders of Bov’shiatvan, his eyes aglow with a light rarely seen, its incandescence having been dimmed by millennia of servitude to his incarcerators. “My wildest expectations have been realized. The Netsor’ah, the Prophecy once thought to be nothing more than the yearnings of the mad and the repressed now approaches the threshold of actualization. This Hevru begins the journey that will surely bring destruction to our oppressors.”

During one of the frequent periods when he did not have to dance attendance on Them, Galaxaril had sought knowledge in a database of the Empire’s history. Swimming through its currents, he had come upon an island of reason, a cabalistic entry … and began to unearth data the Min’yel’os presumed destroyed.

With plenty of time to spare, the Minister furtively studied the teachings of a Shel’Zib long dead many millennia past. And discovered that beings called
Seekers
,
Believers
, and
Transformed
had been eradicated by the Min’yel’os who believed their quest for solace and refuge in the glorious light of an entity the Shel’Zibhad named Shen’dalah seditious. Galaxaril was ready to share his extraordinary vision with the Chazreen.