God's Lions - The Dark Ruin (9 page)

“He could be right,” Mendoza said, nodding his head. “Twenty years ago, if someone would have told me that the West would invade Iraq and begin building a military infrastructure right in the center of the Islamic world, I would have told them they were crazy. Doomsday theorists who made those kinds of claims were laughed at. I remember one night in Madrid a few years back. We were all having a few drinks at a Tapas bar and listening to an American man sitting at the next table. He was going on to his friends about how the world was moving toward Armageddon and that soon all the pieces would fall into place in the Middle East. We all felt sorry for the guy. I mean, personally I thought he had been mesmerized by all those radio talk-show hosts in America that dominate the airwaves and keep truckers awake at night with their conspiracy theories. I know ... I listened to them one night when I was taking a road trip across the U. S. a few years back. Some of their theories don’t seem so farfetched now.”

Evita kept her eyes focused on Abbas. She was taking in everything he said, and it was obvious by the expression on her face that she didn’t like what she was hearing. “So, what you’re saying is that there’s a darker force at work behind all of these recent events that fits right in with biblical prophecy, especially when it comes to predicting Armageddon.”

“Possibly,” Abbas answered, “but that’s for you to decide, for it is your Book of Revelation that makes these predictions. I only look to the signs around me, and right now they seem to lead to Babylon.”

The relaxed mood around the table had vanished in the wake of a discussion none of them saw coming. Good points had been made on both sides, but it was becoming evident that Eduardo’s move to Babylon at this point in history was probably no coincidence, making it even more vital that they find out why he and his wife and son had traveled to the ruins of some long forgotten civilization in Turkey.

“Have you had a chance yet to speak to the Kurdish workers Eduardo hired when he was there?” Leo asked Abbas.

“Yes. I’ve made arrangements for us to meet with them in Orencik tomorrow.”

Morelli picked at the last mussel on his plate. “I seem to remember you mentioning something about that town the last time we were in this area.”

“Yes, Bishop,” Abbas replied. “You remember ... I said it was surrounded by some suspicious-looking mounds you might want to check out someday.”

“Sounds familiar, but I thought you called it by a different name.”

“A lot of cities and towns here in Turkey have been renamed, but I prefer to use the old names out of respect for local tradition. The locals still refer to Orencik by its older name ...
Karaharabe
.”

“
Karaharabe.
Hmmm ... what does it mean?”

“The last time I was there, one of the villagers told me that the ancient name meant
Black Ruin
. My guess is that’s one of the reasons the government decided to rename it. They probably thought the old name didn’t sound too appealing. When I was talking to the village elder, I noticed that my questions seemed to stir some emotion in him, but when I asked him if they had discovered an ancient black ruin in the area, he insisted that it was probably nothing more than a myth and never really existed in the first place.”

Abbas paused for a moment, his eyes darting nervously between Leo and Morelli. “There’s something else I need to tell you. When I was making arrangements with one of the Kurdish workers for our meeting with them tomorrow, he mentioned that the Coptic priest who died had been seen exploring some mounds outside of Orencik on the same day he drove to the site Eduardo was searching.”

A sudden silence descended over the table as Leo downed the last of his mojito. “How early can we get started tomorrow, Abbas?”

“As soon as the sun comes up, Cardinal. Why?”

“Because we’re moving our search to Orencik. Something tells me Eduardo was looking in the wrong place.”

As the line of vehicles climbed into the rocky hills that cradled the mud-splattered village of Orencik, Leo and the others could see right away that this wasn’t the kind of place that inspired tourists to dive for their cameras. Most of the houses were in a sad state of disrepair, while the rest had collapsed into piles of mud brick after the last rumble deep in the ground had shaken this earthquake-prone region. In short, the entire area reeked of poverty.

Surrounding the village, miles of cultivated fields were delineated by small streams, their meandering paths marked by the only trees that remained standing in an otherwise treeless landscape, and the rutted dirt roads leading into the village made it rough going for the vehicles as they steered around a herd of sheep and passed a small, domed mosque with a single minaret. It was a stark reminder that they were in a land dominated by a single religion that could be either welcoming or hostile to outsiders, and only time would tell what kind of reception they would receive once they entered the village.

Over the cracked tin roofs of leaning houses that matched the color of the earth, Leo could see several rounded mounds in the distance—mounds that seemed out of place in the predominant geology of the surrounding countryside. By now he had been hanging around archaeologists long enough to recognize the signs. To most laymen, the mounds looked just like natural hills covered in flowing brown grass; a place to picnic while your children rolled down their gently sloping sides, but to an archaeologist, it was like having a large neon sign floating overhead, flashing the words:
dig here—ancient civilization hidden below.

Rolling to a stop along a rutted street that led into the town square, the cautious group walked toward the ever-present bazaar filled with covered wooden stalls displaying everything from fresh vegetables and hanging slabs of mystery meat, to things like jars of pickled snakes drifting in a yellowish, foul-smelling liquid. In broken English, a toothless merchant advised them that the snake jars contained a medicinal cure for a local ailment he prayed none of them would ever catch. Thanking him for his concern, everyone in the group nodded their heads as they stared at the putrid contents, for the merchant was obviously offering a last resort to those who had given up all hope.

Pushing their way through colorfully dressed throngs of people who cast silent, vacant stares in their direction, the group ended up walking into a side street darkened by shadows cast by the towering mud-colored buildings that rose on either side. Coming to a short, blue painted door, they knocked and were instantly greeted by a stooping servant who motioned the group into a surprisingly resplendent home filled with ancient statuary and shelves lined with golden trinkets from the past.

Across the room, washing his hands in a large porcelain bowl, was the man they had come to see. Carefully wiping the water from his forearms with a green hand towel, the man turned and walked toward a circle of tall purple cushions that surrounded a low table. Bowing slightly, he spread his arms in an invitation for them to sit as the stooped servant arrived with an intricately engraved silver tray containing small cups and a long-stemmed metal pot filled with steaming Turkish coffee.

Following the requisite introductions, Abbas began translating for the man, telling Leo and the others that their host was the leader of a clan-like group of local Kurdish workers who specialized in excavating ancient sites. They were the local equivalent of a labor union, Abbas explained, and he winked as he told them of how the men of the village hired themselves out to dig for the steady stream of archaeologists who flowed through the region every summer.

Sitting cross-legged on a cushion that stood a little taller than the others, the stoic man barely moved. Even his eyes were barely visible through a pair of heavy brown creases set deep within a weathered face. After exchanging a few more pleasantries, Abbas entered into an animated discussion with the man, asking him if he could lead them to the ruin the village was named after. After several minutes of back-and-forth discussion in Arabic, Abbas exhaled in a show of exasperation. “He says they won’t do it.”

“Ask him why not,” Morelli said.

The old man stared back with a look of resignation on his face, but without waiting for Abbas to translate, he answered Morelli’s question in Arabic.

“He says that his people have been digging up archaeological sites in Turkey for generations,” Abbas continued, “but that it’s forbidden to touch the hills around here. He said that, even though it’s obvious to them that the area surrounding their village is surrounded by ancient ruins that may hold treasures of tremendous value, they will not dig there.”

“But why?” Leo asked. “Is it for religious reasons?”

Stroking his long white beard, the old man gazed around the table before looking to Abbas and speaking in Arabic once again.

“He says that it is unwise to disturb anything the ancients buried here, especially the Black Ruin.” Abbas paused for a moment and sipped his coffee in the polite dance of local custom. “He also said something else. Apparently, all those who have stumbled upon it have died.”

Leo leaned forward and smiled at the man. “Yet he has claimed in the past that no such ruin exists.”

The old man’s eyes remained fixed.

“You speak English, don’t you, sir?” Leo said.

The old man stirred, his eyes cat-like in their unflinching stare. “Yes, Cardinal, I speak English. It is a necessity in my trade, as I deal with many English speakers in my line of work.”

“So why the pretense with us?”

“Because I knew that you would be coming here to ask about the Black Ruin, and I wanted to keep our discussion short.”

“How did you know?”

“I know many things. You will soon learn that there are very few secrets in this part of the world.”

Leo tried to smile, but something about the man’s demeanor made him wary. “At this point, sir, all we’re doing is having a discussion. What harm can that bring?”

“Discussions sometime lead to actions, Cardinal, and in this case, I must not allow that to happen.”

“You know where the Black Ruin is, don’t you?”

The old man’s expression remained frozen. “I’ve never heard an outsider use that name before, but even if I knew where the Black Ruin was I would never reveal its location.”

“Even if I told you that it may hold something that could affect the future of the entire world?”

“Especially if it held something that important, Cardinal. As you know, some things are better left undisturbed. May I ask what it is you are seeking?”

“At this point we have no idea, but we do know that others are also looking for it ... others whose intentions are not yet clear. There must be something of great importance there, which means we can’t allow it to fall into the wrong hands.”

Leo detected a quick flash of fire in the old man’s eyes. “
You
cannot allow it, Cardinal? It is not up to you. This is our land. I have no doubt that what you say is true, because for thousands of years people have been looking for something in this area, and for thousands of years we, like our ancestors before us, have been the guardians of whatever lies beyond those hills.”

“Then you do know where it is?”

“No one knows, Cardinal. We have only seen what has happened to those who have accidently stumbled upon it. Why have you come here? Why would a man wish to rush toward his own destruction? Is that why you and your friends have traveled all this way ... to die?

“Like the Coptic priest?”

“Yes, Cardinal ... like that poor unfortunate man. I tell you the truth when I say that we have no idea where he went. Somehow he must have stumbled upon something that caused his illness, but none of that matters now, because like all of the others who wandered out into the hills looking for something, he died a horrible death. I don’t want to be responsible for leading anyone else to the same fate.”

The old man stood—the meeting obviously at an end.

Reaching out, Leo grasped the man’s gnarled hand, the product of years spent digging in the hard earth. “Thank you, sir, for agreeing to meet with us. You’ve been a very gracious host.”

“Please, Eminence, do not thank me. I can see that you are a very intelligent man, but like other intelligent men, you suffer from an unquenchable thirst for knowledge ... a thirst that can sometimes lead to poisoned waters. Heed my words well, Cardinal. Your eyes will not be opened, but rather closed, for it is death that awaits you if you continue in this search.”

Looking into the weathered slits that framed the man’s golden eyes, Leo sensed wisdom tinged with fearful warning. There was nothing hostile in the unblinking gaze, but if one looked deep enough there was a look of sorrowful resignation—a resignation born of countless encounters with others who had knocked on the man’s blue door. Each had come seeking directions to their own deaths, believing that they and they alone would be the ones to solve the riddle of a strange ruin buried in the nearby hills, but despite the old man’s pleas, none had listened, and as they walked out into the peaceful-looking countryside surrounding the village, the only truth they had discovered lay in the silence of death that had followed a period of great suffering.

With the blue door closing behind them, the group walked back down the narrow street toward their parked cars. They had been shaken by their encounter with the old man, who by his words and manner had confirmed the presence of a mysterious ruin surrounded by ancient legends that linked it with some sort of death curse, and someone or something had made him and his ancestors its guardians for thousands of years.

Dressed in an open white cotton shirt and khaki shorts, Lev Wasserman sat in front of a computer console in the yacht’s communication center, his tanned and calloused feet slipping in and out of a pair of well-worn flip-flops as he peered into a blue-tinged screen. Sitting beside him in the darkened room was the team’s chief cryptographer, Daniel Meir, who had just returned from his honeymoon in Italy with his new bride, Sarah Adams. The door was blocked open, allowing the sea breeze to filter in, yet both men were sweating in the humidity-charged island environment as the yacht’s engineer struggled below decks to repair the boat’s air conditioning system.