THE LAST ARK

CHAPTER 13: TEMPLE ZEALOT

Jewish Quarter, Jerusalem Five Days Before Temple Ceremony

“OK, we’re here.” Derek looks up at the name on the window. Davri Abbot Cirillo took a bullet meant for Derek. Th e ravaging guilt of yet another innocent death triggers a decades-old trauma when a f i ancé and a best friend named Derek Taylor died in an explosion meant for him. He feels compelled to honor the abbot’s last wish. “I’m not cool with your outfi t,” Mordechai repeats his objection. “Nothing good will come from deceiving Mr. Sasson.” Derek patiently scans around for observers. Th e crowded market alleys of old Jerusalem bubble with activity featuring everything from tourist trinkets, conservative clothing, religious antiquities, and the occasional antique bookstore. Fragrant with incense, spices, and the savory smell of cooking, each path leads to narrow stalls that have been operating continuously for over a thousand years. Th e place simmers with timeless secrets to discover if only the ancient stones themselves could talk. With the crowds made thinner by COVID, in this tight community, both he and Mordechai are strangers. “OK, don’t lift your head, but look up with your eyes at the corner of the stone archway behind me. See the camera? Whoever tracked me to the monastery had to access the national security system,” he explains again. “I need a disguise to keep us both alive.” The other option Derek doesn’t want to discuss is that the killer interrogated Father Luigi and expected him at the monastery. “I get the mask part, but it seems disrespectful to dress up as a Greek Orthodox cleric,” the monk explains again. Derek purchased the outfit as a backup plan for the monastery. “That’s what I had on hand; besides, people trust a cleric.” “Yeah, sure, until they learn you used the sacred vestments to deceive them,” says Mordechai with no bitterness or anger. In the cyber-espionage and intelligence business, a little deception is a necessity for survival. Still, the monk is right. This isn’t espionage, and Derek might offend people he may need as allies. As a nonreligious man, he’s never understood the passions of the zealot over the pragmatism of a survivalist. “Point taken, but we’re here now, so follow my lead,” Derek replies. T hey enter a dusty antique bookstore with a sign that claims to specialize in scriptures, ancient scrolls, Torah commentaries, and biblical texts of the Holy Land. “May I help you,” greets the short, stocky man in his fifties, dressed in a simple short-sleeve white shirt with suspenders over loose-fitting black pants. His chest-length white beard highlights bright, intelligent brown eyes that are framed in caramel-colored eyeglasses. “I am sent on a mission by Abbot Cirillo to find a man name Loir Sasson,” Derek says, trying to sound authentic but failing miserably. Loir narrows his eyes suspiciously. “I ask forgiveness for my friend, Mr. Sasson,” interrupts Mordechai. “You may remember me. We met at Mar Jaris.” Loir smiles slightly toward the novitiate. “I remember you, son. Mordechai, right?” “Yes, sir,” Mordechai bows his head. “I’m afraid we bring terrible news. Someone murdered Abbot Cirillo.” “Murdered!” Loir exclaims, his eyes wide in shock. “How can that be? He was a man of peace. What happened? And who are you, and why are you pretending to be a priest?” Loir demands, his eyebrows furrowed. Mordechai smirks. “I told you, the cross goes on the outside, and you should have a beard at your age.” Not expecting to stay in Jerusalem, Derek had not planned disguises to mix and match. “My apologies.” Derek sighs. “A foolish effort on my part to fool facial recognition. The abbot’s killer may either be after me or this panel.” Derek hands Loir the small, lightweight, darkened wood with Hebrew etched onto both sides. Loir’s eyes widen at the tablet, but he’s seen other relics, and certainly a share of them fakes. “What is your name?” “Derek Taylor. I visited the monastery in search of a friend named Sylvia, but we discovered something far more unexpected. Before he died, Abbot Cirillo pointed us to you for a translation, and I’m assuming some guidance on what to do next.” “First, tell me about this panel. What makes it so interesting that someone would kill for it?” Loir says as he examines the panel more closely. “Father Sabas wrote it in 522,” responds Mordechai. “Abbot Cirillo said it may be a copy of the second copper scroll.” Loir’s face grows pallid as he turns the wooden panel over to re-examine the writing. “Second copper scroll? That’s … that’s unbelievable,” he stutters. “How did you find this?” “Under the stone pillow of the prophet,” Mordechai explains. Fascinated by the idea of treasure but baffled by why SLVIA would point him in this direction, Derek grows impatient. Unwilling to go into details about how he discovered the letters of Sabas, he tries to direct the conversation. “Can you translate the text?” “No, but I know someone who can.” Loir moves past them to lock the shop door and turns over the CLOSED sign. “But first, I’ll make us some tea. I need to hear everything.” Loir stops to glare at Derek. “You are lucky Mordechai came with you, or I would have thrown you out and alerted the police. Take off those vestments before God strikes you dead.” Mordechai shoots him a suppressed grin. “Right,” Derek replies, removing the garments. “Tell me why a copper scroll would be so important.” “No, the second copper scroll.” Loir continues to make the tea while he explains. “According to II Maccabees, several years before the Babylonian invasion, Jeremiah and his scribe, Baruch, went into hiding. After years of warning King Josiah, and the high priest, to repent, warnings that went unheeded, the prophet and five of his followers conspired with temple priests to hide the temple treasures somewhere outside of Jerusalem. The first copper scroll, discovered in the 1960s, describes sixty-four locations where Baruch and temple priests hid several dozen tons of gold, silver, and sacred vessels.” Derek has never heard of a copper scroll or a lost temple treasure. However, most of his understanding of biblical history is based on Hollywood. Not a reliable source. “How does a second copper scroll fit?” Loir grins. “The last location of the first copper scroll describes a second copper scroll that many believe will lead to the greatest treasure of all history: T he Ark of Testimony.” Derek has never heard of that ark either. While fascinating, it all sounds like legends, myths, and religious rituals. Not a single connecting point to the SLVIA. “Before we get too excited, we should get an accurate translation.” Loir nods in agreement. “I know a professor of Hebrew literature at Bar Ilan University, very discrete.” Derek nods and smiles. It means another delay to his departure, hopefully only a few hours. Within the lens of his glasses, Jester sends an urgent message. Sir Whines-a-lot having a meltdown. Urgent. Red Alert. Derek grins at the petty rivalry between the two geniuses. Nelson, the brilliant AI pioneer, can be a total diva while Jester, the quantum autistic savant, requires endless patience. Serendipitous timing, Derek needs to ask Nelson for a favor. “Excuse me, Loir, but may I use your restroom?” he asks. Loir points to the back and continues to chat with Mordechai about the history. Locking the door, Derek taps the lens frame to open the satellite channel. A moment later, the face of Dr. Garrett appears in a frame. “Taylor, dear Lord, we were worried sick,” Nelson answers, his face appearing on a small frame of his lens view. “Where are you?” “Long story. Look, I need a huge favor. I’m offering you an opportunity to get out of the cold castle to visit an exotic location.” Derek opens the negotiation without waiting to hear the pet peeve of the day. “To do what, precisely? Have you found the SLVIA?” Nelson’s voice tightens with excitement. “Not yet. The breadcrumbs are leading in an unexpected direction. Listen, I need you to take the GII to Axum, Ethiopia.” Derek spells out his favor, then waits for the reaction. “Ethiopia?” Nelson reacts in disbelief. “Are you bloody insane? A civil war rips the nation apart. What could be of any interest in Axum?” “The Ark of the Covenant,” Derek replies. “I need you to meet the Guardian.” “You must be joking. I’ve seen Indiana Jones,” Nelson retorts. “What can I say? That was Hollywood; I’m talking real life. Not sure how yet, but it may play into this new thread. I can explain later.” Derek tries to avoid discussing a lengthy topic on a quick call. If he were honest, he has no clue how an ark will connect. It’s more of a gut instinct. He watched a special once of the ark in Axum. A panel leading to another ark may be a fake. It would be good to know what a real ark will look like. “Taylor, you’re insane. Besides, I need to ask you something, and I demand that you tell me the truth,” Nelson says, his voice trembling slightly. “Did you ever hack the servers of the Concilium Tredecim? If so, were you ever going to tell me about my father?” Derek’s heart freezes like a kid caught red-handed, unable to think of a good lie fast enough. He doesn’t know how Nelson learned of his father, or the Tredecim, but this will be a delicate conversation. “Doc, I promise to tell you everything I know, I swear, but I can’t talk now. Call Zoey to warm up the GII, and I’ll send details on the plane.” Derek hopes Nelson doesn’t throw a hissy fit. To be fair, learning secrets about your dad can be a tough day on any social ladder. SLVIA hid the archives before disappearing, so how Doc learned is a mystery. “Taylor, now is not a good time,” Nelson protests, sounding cold and defiant. “The WITNESS attention issue has grown worse.” “WITNESS has been cooped up in a lab. So have you. He’s doing better in the field. Use one of the remote satellite kits to take him along. WITNESS needs to see more of the real world.” Derek’s guessing, and if Nelson was honest, he’d admit that he’s guessing too. None of them understands how the quantum AI operates or why it won’t operate the way they expect. “Help me out, and we’ll debrief on the Tredecim and your dad afterward. I promise. Look, people are waiting; I’ve got to go.” Derek ends the call before Nelson can protest and steps out to find Loir and Mordechai staring at him carefully. “Were you talking to yourself in there?” Loir asks. Derek looks to see his phone in his jacket pocket hanging on the chair. He shrugs with a smile. “Yeah, but we all get along, so it’s not weird. Right?”