Crown of Souls, page 24
That rattle in the air made it hard to think straight. “So . . . in order to get whatever was in there, they had to know the secrets of this chamber.”
“Yes, but I would suggest that they not only knew the secrets, they knew much more. Who the artifact belonged to. And why—I mean, you don’t dig for an artifact and so specifically target it unless you know . . . something about its purpose.”
“Purpose.”
Mehdi nodded.
“It’s just a crown. Its purpose is—”
“You know exactly what I mean.” His eyebrows rose as he looked at the ceiling. “Legends abound—”
“Legends are simply historical facts blown out of proportion.”
“Like this cage?” Mehdi said, nodding to it.
Tzivia swallowed.
“Whatever this artifact—or crown, if it is that—is supposed to do, someone went through a lot of trouble to get it.” Mehdi sighed. “I would be worried.”
24
— DAY 25 —
IRAQ
With the tail of her shirt, Haven wiped the sweat from her face after an early-morning run, then stretched out her legs and arms. Cole had always been intense, but watching him practice kali with a pathetic tree that swayed against his violent strikes . . . That relentless determination to nail every strike, every move, was the same one that made him such a great soldier. He said it relaxed him, but she couldn’t help but wonder if it also fed something inside him. A need to keep moving. A need to attack what he couldn’t put his hands on—like Alec King.
At least Cole was channeling his anger productively.
“Want a go?” Cole twirled the right stick then clacked them together.
It took a second for Haven to realize he was speaking to her. She started. “Me?”
He grinned and tossed the stick to her.
She caught it and frowned. “Seriously?”
With a step back, he motioned her closer. “Chiji’s a better teacher, but I’m not bad.”
“Okay,” she said hesitantly.
As she drew closer, he planted a hand on her hip and the other stick in her left hand, positioning her. “I want you to be able to defend yourself better.” He cupped her wrists, rotating them in and out. “Just a fluid extension of your arms, okay?” His breath dashed across her cheek, a bit exerted from his workout, and warm. “First with your right. Strike high—as to the head.” He aimed upward.
She lifted the kali and tapped the tree.
“Now the left.” Back and forth until he had her feet moving in a rhythmic motion. “Now low,” he said. “Like so.” He demonstrated, striking low on both sides. She did that several times, moving quicker with each strike, falling into the motion easily.
“Now high-low-high.”
High on the right side. Swing the arm back to the left side and go low on the tree. Then high on the right again.
The new drill made her stumble the first few times, unsure where to strike when, but within a few minutes, they were moving just as seamlessly as they had with the single moves.
It was a thirty-minute workout that had her shoulders and sides aching, but there was something strangely satisfying about the motion, the clacking of sticks. She understood.
“Sarge, Command radioed,” Maangi announced from the door to the building. “They’re here.”
Arms folded, Cole turned. “They?”
“Apparently the professor’s waiting at the gate, too.”
“On my way,” Cole said, grabbing a rag and starting for the door. “Oh. Hey.”
Maangi hesitated.
“Anyone contact Keogh’s family yet?”
Maangi shrugged—not in a lazy way, but in a weighted, burdened way. “Not that I’ve heard.”
Haven hustled up to Cole. “I doubt Tzivia will like that the professor is here.”
“Why’s that?” Cole asked as they stepped inside.
“They had a falling out.”
He frowned. “How do you know that?”
Haven lifted a shoulder. “She and I talk. On occasion.”
“Since when?”
“Since Jebel al-Lawz.” Haven wasn’t offended by Tzivia or her acerbic nature, nor did the fact Cole and the Israeli beauty had dated make her feel threatened . . . much. Haven had nothing to hide or fear. But Tzivia had been like a moth to the flame, at first displaying open antagonism to Haven and her faith. What had started as a mission to prove Haven wrong had turned into a strange sort of friendship. “Since you and I.”
Uncertainty smeared across Cole’s sweaty face.
“Does that bother you?” It did, she could see.
“I’m not sure. It’s . . . weird.”
“Why? Because you dated her?”
“One date.”
“Then you pushed her away.”
His cheek muscle twitched.
“Like me.”
Cole spun, hands slipping to her waist easily, like second nature. “No.” His blue eyes bored into her soul. “Not like you. Nothing like you.”
Okay, she liked those words.
Determination sparked in his blue eyes. “Leave the past where it belongs.” He pressed in. “And I’m here with you.”
“But you didn’t want me here.”
His eyes slid shut. “You’re going to hold that against me forever, aren’t you?”
“Not forever . . .”
“I wanted you safe. That will always be priority one to me.” He kissed her before she could say anything else. It was probably to silence her protests. For now, she’d let him get away with that.
“Well, don’t you two look cozy.”
Speak of the devil. Tzi was intelligent and beautiful—like Haven—but she wasn’t the grounding wire for his toxic currents. Only Haven could be that. Tox might mangle words with Haven, but he wasn’t drawn to Tzivia, and he hated Haven comparing their experiences.
He turned toward the taunting voice. “Tzivia.” His gaze slid to Dr. Cathey. Weren’t they supposed to be waiting at the gate with security? “How’d you get in?”
Thor strode up behind the newcomers. “I was at general facilities Skyping with my wife when I saw them. Brought them over.”
Tox nodded, noticing Dr. Cathey’s large black case. Something in his gut clenched. And at the back of his mind, he knew things were about to get hairy. “Well, let’s get the team together.”
When he stepped into the briefing room, he hesitated at the sight of the person already sitting at the table. Runt was nursing a soda and nodded. Tox lifted his phone, wondering why there’d been no official change of status on Keogh yet from Command.
“Tox.” Tzivia closed the gap between them. She licked her lips and glanced around. “My brother.”
Why was she nervous about Ram?
“Is he . . . here?”
“Where else would he be?”
“I . . . How is he?”
“He’s Ram.” He shrugged and shook his head. “What’s with the questions?”
She swallowed. Faked a smile. “Nothing.”
“Liar.”
She punched him lightly in the shoulder and took a seat at the table. Tox noticed Haven standing in the doorway. She’d turned away before he could catch her expression, but she knew that there was nothing to worry about with him and Tzivia. Right? He stepped back into the hall, rounded the corner, and pushed into the bunkroom. “All hands in the conference room. Let’s go!”
Cell set down the weights he was using and wiped himself off with a rag. Maangi started for the door, tapping his thigh.
“Where’s Ram?” Tox asked.
“Haven’t seen him.”
“Same.” Wallace had a towel around his waist, apparently having just returned from the showers. “Be there in five.”
Ten minutes later, they were all gathered except Ram. Where had he gone? Tox pulled out his phone and dialed, but the call went to voicemail. For some reason, his gaze flicked to Tzivia, who sat at the table, looking guiltier than sin. Her weird behavior a few minutes ago nagged at him.
What was going on?
He picked up the landline phone to the base and checked with Command, Communications, and every other place he could think of to find Ram. Nothing. He eased up next to Tzivia and leaned down. “Something you want to fill me in on?”
Her expressive eyes hit his.
“Why is Ram AWOL?”
“Why isn’t he AWOL?” Cell said, nodding to Runt.
Thor high-fived him.
Runt smirked but said nothing.
“I just got here,” Tzivia said. “How would I know why my brother’s gone?”
“If I find out you two are screwing us . . .” Sensing Haven’s attention on him, Tox moved to her side and addressed the room. “Okay, let’s get started. We’re here to bounce around ideas in the hope of narrowing down possibilities.” He folded his arms over his chest and tucked his hands in his armpits. “Cell, play the video for the professor.”
“Wait,” Cell said. “I want to know the runt’s real name.”
The crack of silence spread wider with every second.
Thor and Maangi eyed Tox, who pushed his gaze to the floor. No surprise—they deserved to know who they were working with. But Cell’s demand was belligerent. Slowly, he slid his focus to the Wraith newcomer.
Runt shrugged. “I’ll give it, but it’s clear you won’t use it.”
“Why’s that?” Cell groused.
“Because of that.” Runt pointed at Cell. “That attitude. You don’t care about me. You just want attention drawn to me, to point out I’m the new guy.” He stood. “Look, I’m here to help. I have expertise, and they felt it would be of use to you. Okay?” He met Tox’s gaze.
There was a plea in that expression, one to back him up. Tell the team that Runt didn’t stand alone. But the team had lost a lot. Keogh wasn’t just a warm body, which was what Runt was now. “Your name,” was all Tox could manage.
Runt snorted. “Chief Petty Officer Leif Metcalfe.”
“Frogman?” Maangi asked.
Runt’s blue eyes considered their medic, and he gave a firm nod.
“A frogman?” Thor barked a laugh at the nickname for Navy SEALs. “Brilliant.” He leaned forward, roughing his hands together.
“You wanted his name,” Tox said. “Now let’s get down to business. Cell—the video.”
They spent the next thirty minutes reviewing the footage from Egypt and Iraq, then going over enhanced images provided by Cell, the DoD, CIA, and SAARC.
“So, Dr. Cathey,” Tox said, eyeing the man who held more experience and degrees than everyone else in the room combined, “right now, we just need ideas. If you can help us narrow it down to a few, we can—”
“There is no narrowing, Sergeant Russell.”
Tox drew back a chair and sat. Somehow, he knew this had to be taken sitting down. Maybe it was the sick feeling in his gut. Maybe it was the dread beading sweat on his brow. Or just the cruel scythe of experience slicing away hope for a normal mission.
“But I’ll let Tzivia start.”
Tzivia shifted forward. “Yesterday, I visited an old Assyrian site once called Calah. The site leader discovered a chamber containing a strange pedestal, which had at one time—recently—held an artifact. There was no indication in the room or passage of what had gone missing. However, the reliefs suggest that whatever it was had brought four rulers to their deaths.”
“You think it was this crown Alec’s using?” Tox asked.
“There is no proof. However,” she paused, “it’s possible.”
Dr. Cathey splayed some papers across the table. “As Tzivia and I mentioned when we teleconferenced, there are no reports of a stolen crown or other ornamental headdress in our field.” He heaved a breath and bounced his head back and forth. “To our knowledge. But what she learned at the site gives us considerable pause.”
“Your knowledge?” Wallace said. “But you’re the foremost expert in this field.”
“Perhaps. And because of that, we have access to most of the antiquities world, as well as some underground and disreputable sources.” Tzivia folded her hands together. “But if something or someone wants a truth concealed, it can be hidden.”
Much like whatever Tzivia withheld from Tox about her brother.
“Yes. True.” Dr. Cathey shrugged. “So, to be frank, I have nothing on a stolen ornamental piece.”
Frustration snaked around Tox. Failed missions in Egypt and here. Keogh dead. A newb on the team, though Tox had a feeling Runt had a truckload of experience. And Wraith had what? Challenge coins. Body counts rising. He considered the two archaeologists and remembered that the professor tended to be exact in what he said and did. “So what do you have?”
Dr. Cathey smiled in a way that said the contents of the box might as well be what Santa carried from the North Pole. “I’m so glad you asked, Sergeant Russell. Because after close and careful examination of the satellite image from Egypt—”
“Wait,” Cell said, frowning and shaking his head. “That image was grainy, and you saw it like two seconds ago. I cleaned it up, but—”
“Yes. You did a wonderful job, cleaned it up just enough for me to be fairly certain of my theory—”
“And that’s all it can be at this point,” Tzivia interjected. “At least until we gather more facts or retrieve the artifact itself.”
Tzivia and the professor could debate themselves into the afterlife, and probably would, left to their own devices. “Understood.” Tox nodded to the professor. “Go on.”
“As you have probably guessed, we are almost certainly dealing with another artifact. From the situation, from the site Tzivia visited, from the drawing made by the village boy, and from the story you relayed of Mr. King, the moral decay that you have witnessed and shared with us—”
“Moral decay?” Tox tensed.
“You said Mr. King has shifted from revenge to vigilantism.” He peered over the rim of his glasses, his gray eyes probing. “Yes?”
Tox didn’t like that the professor was reading into the situation. But neither could he argue. He gave a curt nod.
“So, from the image and the instances you have related,” Dr. Cathey continued, “it is possible that we might be dealing with what is known as the Crown of Souls.”
“Okay, that name alone gives me the creeps,” Cell muttered.
“Everything gives you the creeps,” Maangi taunted.
Tox held up a hand, staying the banter. “You came to that conclusion fast, professor. Shouldn’t you reserve judgment until we can find it or get a better picture of this thing?”
“No!”
The finality of the answer silenced Tox. He stared, noting the additional gray in the older man’s brown hair and beard. Age lines might’ve carved a map on his face, but a youthful vigor lurked in his eyes, born from his passion for antiquities.
“With the markers, the results, what Tzivia found at Calah, I am convinced.” Hesitation hung with apology and grief. Dr. Cathey gave a sad shake of his head. “It can be only one piece.”
Man, he was going to hate this, wasn’t he? Was he ready to hear this? Were any of them? Leaning back, Tox rested his arms on his chair, grateful as Haven leaned closer, their arms touching. Reassuring. “We’re listening.”
“The site Tzivia’s colleague summoned her to is Nimrud.”
“Whoa!” Cell raised a hand, glancing at the table. “Nimrud—as in Nimrod? From the Bible?”
“The ancients called it Kalhu. The Bible and others referred to it as Calah or Caleh. The site was renamed in modern times to Nimrud.” Flint struck Tzivia’s brown eyes.
Dr. Cathey lifted a digital tablet and scrolled. “Ah, here. ‘He was a mighty hunter before the LORD: wherefore it is said, Even as Nimrod the mighty hunter before the LORD.’ Genesis 10:9.”
“But let’s be clear,” Tzivia said, her lips tight, “there is much debate among scholars about who Nimrod was in reality. Some say he was Sargon. Some say he was a giant. Others suggest Tukulti-Ninurta I.”
“True,” Dr. Cathey agreed. He lifted a finger. “But relevant nonetheless.”
“Why?” Tox asked, wishing Ram were here to add his two cents.
“Because it is purported that Nimrod built Calah—that is, Kalhu—and many facts place him at this time. He has been listed as the first king of Babylon, Akkad, and Erech, said to have dug canals. The Bible mentions this as well in Genesis 10. According to Jewish tradition, Nimrod inherited garments from his ancestor, Adam, which made him invincible.”
“Whoa whoa whoa,” Cell cried. “Adam? As in fig leaves and ‘it’s her fault’ Adam?”
Haven leaned forward. “There isn’t much in the Bible about Nimrod, just a few scant pieces, right?”
“True,” Dr. Cathey said with a smile. “We are told in Genesis and Chronicles that Nimrod was the great-grandson of Noah and a mighty man. But the invincibility, and perhaps this crown—if we can prove it—might explain how he managed to rise to such wealth and power. That and the vengeance he sought against God for destroying his forefathers—”
“There are a lot of legends about him,” Tzivia huffed. “Including that he was a giant. That he was ambushed by Esau and beheaded. That he built the tower of Babel. That his twin sons birthed the Huns and Hungarians. One even includes a parallel to Shadrach, Meshach, and Abednego with a fiery furnace!”
Something had lit Tzivia’s fuse. Before the whole thing blew up in his face, Tox knew to rein it in. “Doc?” He loved history more than the next person, but time was a vicious enemy. “The crown?”
“Oh. Yes. Sorry.” Being the professor that he was, he handed Cell a laminated image and asked him to pass it around. “The Crown of Souls dates back to the Bronze Age. There is a story that says iron fell from the heavens—a meteor, perhaps—and was found to be very powerful.”
“The site I visited,” Tzivia said, “has a relief that depicts that. It shows something falling, but it’s impossible to make out what it is.”
“I cannot wait to see it in person.” Dr. Cathey nodded, anticipation making him antsy, but he shot Tox a quick, nervous glance and refocused. “The Assyrians believed this iron captured and carried off the souls of their enemies. Some say it was actually a crown, or that a crown was made of this iron. It was highly prized, but there is nothing left of it, except perhaps the crown.”
