The Jerusalem Creed: A Sean Wyatt Thriller (6 page)

“A symbol from early Buddhism,” Sean said, answering his friend’s unasked question.

“Yes,” he said, embarrassed. “That’s what I was trying to come up with. But why is it here?”

“There is one more,” Karem interjected. He flashed his light past Sean’s shoulders and onto the wall behind him. “A symbol from the Zoroastrian religion, the sign of Ahura Mazda.”

Sean turned around and looked at the circular light on the emblem. Karem was correct. It was a symbol he’d seen before in Babylonian culture, mostly in temples and other religious settings.

He frowned as Tommy circled around the coffin and examined the carving. “It makes no sense,” he said, definitively. “Why would there be symbols of other religions in the tomb of a Jewish high priest?”

Karem shrugged. “Perhaps he was a particularly tolerant priest.”

Sean shook his head. “Maybe, but my gut is telling me it has more to do with that tablet. Did Nehem say anything about those symbols in the email — or to you in person, Karem?”

Both Tommy and their Israeli guide shook their heads. “Nope,” Tommy answered.

“I wonder why that is.” Sean took a step closer to the etched stone. “A Jewish priest who was buried, surrounded by a symbol from his own religion, an old one, and one that must have just been taking root.”

Tommy agreed. “Yeah, Buddhism was in its infancy at that point. The first of their temples dates back to around the seventh century, perhaps a little earlier.”

Sean looked around the room, still confused about the carvings. “Is there anything else in here, or is this it?”

Karem shrugged. “If there was anything, Nehem would have taken it. And if he did not, the men who kidnapped him could have. This area was not very secure while he was working here. Since his disappearance, security measures have been increased. Too late, I’m afraid.” The last line carried the weight of regret.

Tommy kneeled down and examined the inner walls of the sarcophagus. Inch by inch, his light ran along the stone until he had nearly scoured the entire object. He was about to give up when he found something odd cut into the stone near the right foot of the skeleton. He squinted and leaned in a little closer to get a better look.

“You got something?” Sean asked, hovering over the spot where Tommy was looking.

“Maybe,” he shook his head. “It’s so small I can barely see it. And the angle is awkward. It looks like ancient Hebrew, though.”

Sean took out his phone and handed it to his friend after letting his thumbprint unlock the screen. “Take a picture of it.”

Tommy nodded and accepted the device. He gently dipped his hand into the box and pressed the button. The flash seared their vision for a second, blasting a blinding cloud of bright white through the chamber. Tommy looked at the image on the screen. “Got it,” he said. “There’s something else near the other foot. I’m going to take a picture of that too.”

As he leaned in, he realized that the writing had been placed in a similar fashion, but the symbols were different. He took another picture and then handed the device back to Sean.

“What do you think?”

Sean studied each image for a moment. “Not sure. It’s definitely some variation of ancient Hebrew or Aramaic. Karem?”

He passed the phone to their driver, who took a quick look. He slowly shook his head. “I have seen this before, but I would need a little time to analyze it and come up with a translation.”

“Maybe we should send it to the kids,” Sean suggested.

Tommy nodded. “Good idea.”

Dubai

Mamoud ran his fingers along the edge of the ancient tablet. He sat at the end of a long dining table. Made from English oak, it had been imported years ago by his father. When Mamoud moved into the coastal mansion, he’d brought it with him. The stone tablet rested safely on a satin towel so as not to scratch the expensive table’s surface. His finger moved from the outer edge of the stone to the inner lines and shapes. He had no idea what he was looking at, but he was quite sure of what it would lead him to.

The man at the other end of the table seemed bent on not giving him the interpretations Mamoud required.

“Are you familiar with some of the ancient torture methods of King Xerxes of Persia, Doctor?”

The older man opposite him trembled in his seat. His long gray beard looked like it hadn’t been trimmed in over a year. The skin on his balding head was tanned both from weeks of being in the sun and a lifetime of work that kept him outdoors. His wireframe glasses rested atop a broad, almost droopy nose. Wrinkles above both cheeks also belied his age. The eyes, however, were keen and fierce. While his body trembled, the greenish-brown orbs told a different story. Two guards stood directly behind Nehem Ben Asher. One of them was Sharouf.

“I am familiar with much in regards to history, Mamoud. Though I prefer not to study such barbaric traditions as that.” His voice was even and sharp.

Mamoud reached out and picked up a small silver cup. He put it to his lips and took a long sip of the hot tea. “That’s a shame. They were truly quite adept at the art of inflicting pain on their prisoners. My ancestors come from a line that goes all the way back to Xerxes himself.”

“All of our lines intersect at one point or another, Mamoud. What is your point?”

The young Arab ignored the insolence, instead appreciating the man’s boldness. “I like how you are direct and to the point. That must be the scientist in you.”

“I see no reason to be otherwise,” Nehem said defiantly.

“Nor do I, Doctor, which is why I must ask you again why you won’t do as my man asks.”

Nehem took in a deep breath and tilted his head back. “The relics you seek belong to the kingdom of Israel. No one else. Even in the hands of the Israeli government, those objects could be of great danger to the world. They can only be given to the most careful and trustworthy individuals whose hearts are as pure as snow.”

Mamoud raised an eyebrow and flashed a cynical glare. “Hearts as pure as snow? I’m not here for a lesson in morals, Doctor. I need you to decipher the tablet code.”

“Why?” Nehem raised his hands off the table, a move that caused Sharouf to put his hand on the doctor’s shoulder.

Mamoud raised a hand, signaling for his guard to release the hostage. “It’s fine, Sharouf. He’s of no threat to us.”

Sharouf obeyed and took a reluctant step back.

“Why?” Mamoud repeated the question. “Because I am a lover of all things in history, and of all religions.” He almost laughed at his own lie as it came from his lips.

Nehem snorted in derision. “What is the real reason you want the relics, Mamoud? You already have everything a man could want in this world. What would you need with those things?”

“If I told you, you wouldn’t believe me, old man. But I will tell you this: You will give me the translation to the tablet, or I will make sure that before you die you experience more pain than you have ever imagined.” He leaned forward, folding his hands and resting his elbows on the table. “Give us the translations to the tablet, and lead us to the relics, or I swear to you, you will wish you were dead.”

The old archaeologist stared at him with an unwavering gaze. His nervous shaking had ceased, and he found new resolve in the threat. “You can do your worst to me, Mamoud. I will never give you the translations or the location of the Hoshen. They do not belong to you. I do not know what you want with them, but whatever the reason, I am most certain it is not for the cause of good.”

Mamoud feigned disappointment. “Why, Doctor, you believe that I serve the forces of evil? You couldn’t be more wrong about that. Just as you couldn’t be wrong in your assumption that I can’t make you tell me what the tablet says. And the fact that you mentioned not telling me the location means you’ve already figured that part out.”

Nehem’s demeanor shifted noticeably, to a much less comfortable affect.

“It’s okay,” Mamoud reassured him. “You are understandably stubborn. But your beliefs are misplaced. You think that I aim to torture you into submission?”

The doctor glanced over one shoulder and then the other at the guards behind him. “Why else would you ask me about ancient torture methods? I know your reputation. You are a cruel, evil man who will stop at nothing to get what he wants.”

Mamoud rolled his shoulders. “Perhaps that’s true, but I do it all for the right reasons.”

“Greed is never a right reason.”

“Greed? Oh, I’m not greedy. I have no want for anything, Nehem. Look around you. I live in a palace on the beach.” He put his hands out as if displaying the surroundings to his unwilling guest. “I have everything I could ever desire.”

“Then what drives you, Mamoud? Power?”

The young Arab stood up and walked deliberately to the other end of the table. His expensive Italian leather shoes clicked on the hard floor with every step. When he reached the chair where Nehem sat, he folded his hands in front of him, keeping them at waist level.

“All men want power, Nehem. I have that as well. I could snap my fingers, and a hundred people would do my bidding, no matter what the order. The reason for my search will be revealed to you soon enough, when you provide me with the translations and, apparently, the location.”

Nehem’s head went back and forth slowly. “I’ll never tell you. You can torture me all you want. You’ll not get your dirty fingers on those holy relics.”

“I see.” Mamoud started to spin around and walk back to his seat, but he stopped, instead putting one hand on the table and bending over, putting his face only a foot away from the older man’s. The closeness made Nehem uncomfortable, but he forced himself to keep a straight face and not flinch.

“You are mistaken, Doctor, when you assume I was going to torture you.” He stood erect once more and took a step back, turning to leave the room.

Nehem’s mind raced. What was he insinuating? He thought fast, and one terrifying truth kept rearing its head in his eyes.

“I have no family,” he said finally. “My wife died years ago. I am all alone now.”

Mamoud stopped instantly and slammed his fist on the table. “Lies!” he yelled, his voice echoing through the high ceilings.

A tear formed in Nehem’s left eye. His head kept moving back and forth in one last attempt to deny his captor. “Please. I beg of you.”

“No more begging, Nehem.” Mamoud still faced the other direction, keeping his back to the older man. “I will torture your daughter until every last ounce of her will succumbs to me. I will give her over to my men first, before the old techniques are employed. They will have their way with her, at my insistence. And I have many, many men in my service. When they are done, Sharouf here will begin his work. And he is very, very good at what he does. Xerxes himself would have paid dearly for his services.”

There was no holding back the tears now for Nehem. They flowed freely like two broken dams. “Please. She’s all I have in this world. Do whatever you want to me, but don’t hurt her. Please.” There was surrender in his voice. Mamoud had heard it before, many times. He always got what he wanted. That was the simple way of it. People could hold out sometimes, but in the end, everyone had a pressure point that could be used.

“Tell me what the tablet says, and I will spare your daughter. Lie to me, and I will personally take her as part of my harem, for a while. After I’m done with her, all the other things I said will come to pass. Now,” he spun around and stared through his hostage, “are you going to tell me what the tablet says, or do I need to send Sharouf to the university where your daughter works?”

Nehem swallowed hard, tears still streaming down his already wet face. They hung momentarily in the tangles of his beard before falling to his thighs. He nodded. “Yes. I will tell you. But I have your word? No harm will come to her?”

“I swear it to Allah,” Mamoud answered.

The old man paused. He didn’t care what they did to him, but he couldn’t risk any harm coming to the only family he had left on the planet, even at the cost of the rest of civilization. She would find a way to survive, somehow.

“The translation is a riddle.”

Mamoud took another step closer. Sharouf’s eyes widened behind Nehem’s back.

“Go on,” the wealthy Arab said.

Nehem’s eyes began to dry out, and he wiped his face clean of the tears with his sleeve. “I don’t know both locations with any certainty. But from what I understand about the translation, the objects you seek were taken to two places, far apart from each other.”

“The first?”

“Again, I honestly do not know for certain. I only discovered the tablet shortly before your men showed up. I’d been working on the translation day and night. I only unraveled it this morning.”

“You’re sure you did the translation correctly?” The question left little room for doubt. If Nehem were trying to stall or fool Mamoud in any way, the consequences would be most dire.

The prisoner swallowed again. “Yes. I am sure. But the riddle is vague. I can only offer a guess as to where it might lead us. I need more time to figure out the first location.”

“More time?” Mamoud looked at Sharouf. “Find the girl. Bring her to me.”

Nehem shot out of his chair. The second he did, Sharouf’s hand smacked down on his shoulder and forced him back into the seat with a thump. “I am not lying to you, Mamoud. I know what you would do to her. Please, the tablet translation is only part of the puzzle. The riddle lends a clue, but there is more.”

“What do you mean, more?”

Nehem’s breath came quickly in big heaves. “The tablet is a grid of twelve spaces. When you put the symbols into the different spaces, it produces a different result, a completely new combination of letters. The symbols alone can spell out the riddle once you unlock the cipher, but it could take weeks to get the correct sequence in the grid to spell out a name of any significance.”

Mamoud considered what his hostage was telling him. He had no reason to lie at this point, unless he was stalling. He doubted Nehem would risk doing that, knowing what would happen if he suspected what the man was up to. The archaeologist was well aware of the actions Mamoud would take, and they would be severe. No, he was being honest. He could see it in the man’s swollen, reddened eyes. There were no lies in them. Still, a few weeks wasn’t good enough. He’d waited long enough for the war he was about to wage, and he couldn’t begin until he had the two relics.

“You said there are twelve spaces on the grid, and that each one combined together will produce possible names of the places where the relics are hidden?”

“Yes. I believe so. I swear. I can’t be sure. But I am confident.”

A few weeks. He didn’t have that kind of time.

“You have twenty-four hours.”

A short, low vibration sound echoed like a rumble in the vacuous room. Sharouf stirred behind the prisoner, sliding his hand into his pocket. He pulled out his phone and stepped away from the table to an archway leading into the adjacent room.

He answered the phone in Arabic. “What?”

Mamoud’s eyes narrowed as he tried to hear what the person on the other end of the phone call was saying, but all he heard was mumbled gibberish.

Sharouf nodded. “I see. Are you sure?”

He listened again to the report coming from the earpiece. When the person was done talking, Sharouf thanked them and ended the call. He put the phone back in his pocket and looked up at his employer. Mamoud stared at him expectantly, giving away nothing. Sharouf likewise kept his demeanor calm. Clearly, he was trying to hide something from their captive. He motioned with his head to join him in the other room.

Mamoud nodded and ordered the remaining guard to escort Nehem back to his room. “I would suggest you hurry, Doctor. The clock is ticking.”

The guard stood the man up and ushered him out another entryway, into a foyer, and up a set of stairs. Once the sound of their footsteps had faded away, Mamoud followed Sharouf into the kitchen. They both cautiously looked around to make sure no one was within earshot.

“What is this?” the head man asked.

Sharouf kept cool, but a twitch in his eye belied that something was wrong. “That was my man in Atlanta. The targets managed to escape.”

Mamoud’s expression remained stoic while rage boiled up inside him. “Where are they?”

“My men have been working to find out where they went. They believe they may have stayed at a safe house or perhaps their IAA building over the evening.”

“So you have no idea where they are right now?”

Sharouf looked down at his shoes for a second before locking eyes with his boss once more. “On a hunch, they were able to track the IAA jet late this morning.”

“And where did it go?”