Crown of Souls, page 31
“Maybe you’re reading it wrong.”
Dobbs snorted. “We do this on a daily basis. How often do you?”
Tox’s gut churned. “Excuse me.” He walked into Tzaddik’s house and strode down the short hall to the bathroom. He tucked himself into the bathroom and locked the door behind him. Just to get away. Get some space. Slumping against the door, he gripped his knees.
Was he losing his mind?
Two hands. He’d seen two right hands throwing that vest. His hand and . . .
Had to have been the heat. The wake from the explosion blurring his vision. Right?
Sure. That was what he kept telling himself about the tunnel collapse and the fiery image of Tzaddik that had visited him, too. A trembler switch. Couldn’t be. The EOD tech had to be wrong. Maybe there was a glitch in the wiring? The batteries? Were there even batteries?
Feeling that heat. Knowing the vest had been remotely activated. Knowing the explosion was happening right in his face.
Yet . . . He glanced in the mirror on the opposite wall. No burns there.
He snorted. Who cared about burns? He was alive when he shouldn’t be. There were no answers. No explanations. It just was. He just was . . . still here, still confused.
Pushing off the wall, he glanced in the mirror one more time. Then splashed water on his face, toweled off, and opened the door.
Ram waited there, arms folded, confrontation in his hazel eyes. “What happened out there?”
“Come again?”
“I see it all over your face—something’s bothering you.”
“Alec tried to kill Wallace.” He didn’t want a lecture or conversation now.
“Dobbs say the bonds are missing.”
Tox blinked. “The bonds?”
“You said Wallace had his hands bound to his ankles, and there’s proof on his wrists and ankles—scrapes and chafing—but the evidence team didn’t find the bonds.”
With a slow shrug, Tox shook his head. “I have no idea. When the bomb detonated, it slammed me to the ground. I was out cold and came to with Haven standing over me.” He rubbed his jaw, thinking about the glint he’d seen when he’d first inspected Wallace’s situation. The glint of metal. “Tzaddik said the bonds were rope.” That made more sense, right?
“You think they burned up?”
Tox shrugged.
“How’d you come out with such a minor injury?” Ram pointed to the bandage on Tox’s forearm.
Leaning against the doorjamb, Tox sighed. “I don’t know, man. It’s messed up.” He sighed and ran a hand over his head and neck, unable to sort through the confusion. “What about you? Why are you here? I thought you were heading back to the plane after we connected with Tzaddik.”
Ram deflated. “I’m doing damage control.”
“Because of the bomb?” But that wouldn’t explain why Ram had been close enough to get on-site before the detonation. “Tzivia.” It was the only other option that made sense.
Ram’s nod was almost nonexistent.
“Her boyfriend?”
“Omar is an intelligence director.”
“So she’s using this guy?”
Ram sighed. “I don’t know.” Frustration and exhaustion pressed in on his answer.
“Why isn’t she going through Iliescu or Almstedt?”
“Because it has nothing to do with you or the crown.” Ram shook his head. “She’s using Omar to get answers about our father, and it’s put both of us in a lot of trouble and a lot of danger.”
“Your father? I thought he was dead.”
“He is. But”—Ram gave a cockeyed nod—“the circumstances were . . . suspicious. I’ve been quietly looking for answers, but it wasn’t fast enough for her. The Mossad is aware of what she’s doing, and they aren’t happy. Omar is suspended. And . . .”
Tox’s gut twisted. “What?”
“Tzivia is missing.”
“They got to her?”
“I . . .” Another shake of the head. “I think she’s gone into hiding, which is the smartest thing she’s done in a few weeks. The last anyone saw of her was that meeting she had with Omar in the clothing shop you had Cell tap into.”
“Maybe Omar helped her vanish.”
Ram pinched his lips. “Not likely.”
“That’s why you were close by—looking for her.”
“Trying. I have to play two hands. The Mossad knows I want her found, but they also know my loyalty to them is absolute.”
Tox squinted. “Is it?” Would he have to worry about his friend choosing between Israeli and American interests?
But Ram didn’t answer. Didn’t allay the fears grinding through Tox’s mind like a slipped gear. “Israel wants the crown stopped, too.”
“That’s not an answer to my question.”
“But it is an answer to our immediate situation.” Ram shifted and took the conversation with him. “Get what you needed from Tzaddik?”
Tox didn’t like the way this was being turned. “Maybe. A lot of riddles. Confusion. But he says we have what we need.”
“Then let’s get back to the professor and run it past him.”
Tox was more than ready to get out from under Tzaddik’s mystery-upon-mystery methods. “Agreed.”
Ram headed to the front room, and Tox pulled the bathroom door to. As he turned, he noticed the door across the hall hung open an inch. There, on the bed inside, lay a small jumble of metal.
Tox froze, his gaze locked on the item. He slipped into the room and crossed to the bed. Cold metal rings connected by a short chain teased his fingertips and mind.
Handcuffs.
The ones that secured Levi’s hands. Not rope. Carbon steel.
The ones the evidence response team couldn’t find.
They were here. On Tzaddik’s bed. Broken. The metal strained apart.
— DAY 26 —
SAARC JET
“Tzivia’s missing?” Dr. Cathey peered over his rimless glasses, stroking his beard.
Haven coiled in on herself, thinking about the Israeli beauty. There was so much going on in her, so much animosity, so much turmoil.
“She’s protecting her whereabouts,” Ram corrected. “I don’t believe she’s in immediate danger, but she is aware of the threat, the trouble she’s brought on herself.”
“By looking for your father?” Cell asked, his wrinkled brows climbing his forehead.
“Our father is dead.” Ram’s voice was flat, emotionless. Like his expression.
Which made Haven wonder what he was hiding. She wished this conversation was being recorded, so she could play it back later. Something had been off with Ram and Tzivia since the team started trying to stop Alec King.
“Sorry,” Cole said, holding up a hand, “but we need to get back on track.”
“The crown,” Thor said. “And putting a massive hole in the back of Alec King’s head.”
“Hooah,” Cell muttered, but they all saw the glower from Cole. “I mean, I get it—you were his friend, but you have to admit, Sarge, that this guy has to be taken down.”
“If by ‘taken down’ you mean ‘stopped,’ then I agree.”
“‘Stopped.’” Cell tucked his chin, peering through his muddy brown eyebrows. “You seriously think stopping him will work? I can’t see this guy giving up just because we slap cuffs on him.”
Cole flinched. He hadn’t been the same after returning from Tzaddik’s. Something there had changed him. Though he’d kissed her like there was no tomorrow at one point, he’d been withdrawn and contemplative ever since. Maybe even angrier, which she hadn’t thought possible.
What was going on?
“The crown,” Cole repeated. “Haven took some good notes, and I snapped photos of Thefarie’s journals.” He glanced at Dr. Cathey. “You get those?”
“Yes, and I’ve studied them while we waited for your return.” The professor drew off his glasses and pointed them toward the wall. “Had you but a longer flight, I might have more material. As it is, I found”—he waved a paper, donned his glasses, and started reading—“that Shalmaneser II, a descendant of Shalmaneser I and Tukulti-Ninurta I, has a monolith inscription of Column I that states in one translation: ‘ . . . when Assur the great lord in the determination of his [heart] had turned upon his illustrious eyes, and had called me to the government of Assyria; had given me to hold the mighty weapon which overthrows the rebellious; had [invested] me with the [sacred] crown; the lordship over all lands.’” The professor smiled at them. “There—‘the crown,’ which gave ‘lordship over all lands.’”
“But don’t all crowns mean lordship over the lands?” Cell asked. “Like, the Queen of England wears the crown that names her queen.”
“Perhaps,” Dr. Cathey said, “but the Assyrians wrote using words that imbued life-giving properties to this crown.”
“What?” Cell asked.
“There is an inscription that says crowns gave witness—literally, not figuratively,” Dr. Cathey said, shaking his finger. “The crown literally gave witness in trials and made decisions. It’s unique terminology that personifies this crown unlike any inscription before.”
“So, you’re saying,” Cole said, rubbing his jaw again, “that Shalmaneser believed one of their two thousand gods gave him the crown that made him ruler over all the lands?”
“I am. And who is to say this is not the very same Crown of Souls that his forebears had, that Tukulti-Ninurta”—he motioned to Haven’s journals—“or Nimrod, believed came down from heaven?”
“How do we stop it?” Cole sighed. “That seems to be the part nobody really wants to define.”
“Perhaps because a definitive solution is not entirely possible.”
The frown Cole gave the professor mirrored the one the rest of the team wore. “How is it possible not to have a solution if we have to stop it?”
“Because it has not been previously stopped, nobody can define the method to . . . neutralizing its effects.” The professor seemed a little too pleased with himself for that explanation. “In the notes, it says that Thefarie identified four of the five legacies.”
“What legacies?” Cell asked.
“The jewels,” Haven said. “And the fifth is unknown to us, maybe even to Thefarie, since he didn’t mention it.”
“Do we know what type of jewels they are and what they look like?” Thor asked from where he sat next to Haven.
“We do—well, we have clues.” Dr. Cathey pointed to the wall again. “I’ve put together a chart, using Haven’s notes, Mr. Russell’s photos, and my research. It is my belief that not only must we take into account Thefarie’s narrative of what he claims to know, but also the character of this Crusader-knight and his mission—to protect mankind. I suspect the narrative not only tells us where to look but what to look for. First line of his script: ‘The seal of Shalmaneser ruled Tukulti-Ninurta.’”
“Weren’t signet rings that held the seal made of gold?” Cole shrugged. “There’s no jewel in that.”
“Yes, and that may prove to be a problem. I have no solution for that one yet, but I will continue my search.” Dr. Cathey bobbed his head toward the wall again. “But next it said, ‘At his city where queens are buried, in great relief.’”
“Right,” Haven interjected.
“Nimrud—ancient Kalhu—is where the queens were buried.”
“Mr. Tzaddik thought a relief might reveal what the riddle meant.”
“Indeed,” Dr. Cathey said.
“So we go to Nimrud and walk around reading all the reliefs?” Maangi asked, his annoyance strong.
“We will need to visit both sites—”
“Wait.” Tox frowned. “Both?”
“Yes, Nimrud is only connected to the queens. We must also visit the site of the kings to solve these riddles. Within the two, we can narrow down where to look, because every relief and depiction is meticulously catalogued. And I’ve drawn a few to consider—I have an idea about where to look at Ashur.” He clicked a button and flicked through three images. “It makes sense to visit that first, since it is closer and might be quicker. Then on to Kalhu.”
“Ancient Ashur?”
Dr. Cathey nodded. “Modern day Qal’at Sherqat.”
31
— DAY 27 —
QAL’AT SHERQAT, IRAQ
The sands of time carved cruel lines through the desert, mocking the efforts of man to establish its mark on the world. Strong and obstinate, Tabira Gate—three arches set one behind the other—remained upright, defying the elements and time. Refusing to collapse beneath the weight of history.
Tox crouched as the Black Hawk lifted off, rotors slapping grains of sand at the team it had deposited. Bracing himself against the gusts, he stared at the gate. Couldn’t help but think how much Tzivia would enjoy this view and opportunity.
But that was what she got for hiding. He’d sent her a message before heading out, pleading with her to contact them. They desperately needed her help. She couldn’t have picked a worse time to try to hunt down information about her father.
“Incredible, is it not?” Dr. Cathey’s voice boomed once the helo noise faded. “Look at it! So glorious against a rugged terrain. Defiant to the end, the Assyrians.”
Defiant. A lot like someone else Tox knew. Squinting, he scanned the area. Had Alec been here? His nerves thrummed. He wouldn’t put it past him. Alec had been at least two steps ahead of them constantly.
“Their religious capital survived those who built it and those who expanded it,” Dr. Cathey went on. “Here, kings were crowned, and here, they were laid to rest with the land.”
“Dude, we aren’t digging up bodies, right?” Cell rolled his shoulders. “I just want to find one of those gems and get out of here.”
A check for radio frequency broadcasts could tell them if Alec had been here. Haven was smiling and talking with Maangi, who pointed to something in the distance. Protectiveness shot through Tox, remembering how Alec had hit Wallace and Keogh. “Cell.” Tox jerked toward the communications specialist. “Get your equipment set up. Search for the ghost skip.”
“Copy that. Leavin’ y’all to the grave-digging,” Cell muttered, dragging the big black case that contained his special equipment. He trudged along the stony hill that traced the Tigris River. “Come on, Runt. You can be my beast of burden.”
“You do realize I outrank you,” Runt said.
Cell laughed and merely indicated the equipment for Runt to pick up.
Runt glanced at Tox.
He had a lot more experience, Tox knew, but he also had an expectation, an arrogance, that he should be able to step into a position equal to that held by Ram. So Tox gave him a nod, telling Runt to go with Cell. It would do him good to get his bearings with the team.
“There, the Tabira Gate,” Dr. Cathey said, pointing.
Tox followed the professor’s leading. The three arches stood in the middle of nowhere, exhibiting that defiance the professor had mentioned. It was hard to imagine a thriving trade culture here when most of it was barren or rocky. But the professor had shown them satellite imaging that revealed a ghosted grid of civilization. Tox still couldn’t get the image out of his head, as if the past lingered in the dust. Ghost skips. Ghost cities.
Too many ghosts.
He shifted his gaze to where the old palace and ziggurat protruded from the desert-like terrain.
“We’re in Iraq.”
Tox glanced at the professor. Was there a point? Of course they were in Iraq.
“In the al-Sherqat district.”
“I would guess that’s why they call it Qal’at Sherqat.”
“Right,” the professor agreed with an ardent nod. “But did you know it’s a small panhandle of the Salah ad-Din Governorate?”
His ears weren’t playing tricks. “Saladin?”
“No, but that is where the name came from,” Dr. Cathey said with a smile.
“More history for the history buff,” Haven quipped as she joined them.
Saladin. Hearing that name from Tzaddik was bad enough. Tox swallowed, once more taking in the area. He wanted to get in and get out. Fast. “What do we need to find here?”
“And how are we going to find it?” Maangi asked, his gaze distant as he took in the site. “Look at this place—most of it buried, destroyed, or unknown.”
“This way.” Dr. Cathey hustled down an incline, then hurried on a course parallel to the Tigris. Spreading his arms to the side, he was more exuberant than Tox had seen him in a while. “To your left was the house of the incantation priest.”
“I’ll incant something if we run up against any radicals,” Thor promised.
“Over there is the temple of Sin and Shamash.”
Thor scowled. “A temple for sin? Sign me up!”
“Sin, the moon god,” Dr. Cathey clarified. “Later, a temple to the goddess Ishtar was built, but Ashur dates back to the third millennium BC. Long before the Assyrians showed up, this site was populated by the Sumerians. Because of its location along the Tigris, Ashur was a thriving trade city.”
“Now it’s a heap of rubble targeted by ISIL,” Maangi mumbled.
“Where are we headed, professor?” Ram asked.
“There,” Dr. Cathey said, huffing. “The ziggurat.”
Tox hesitated for only a fraction of a second, looking at the structure that seemed more like a mud mound than a ziggurat. “We allowed in there?”
“Sure, assuming we get there before the army.”
“The army?” Thor’s voice pitched high.
“Indeed. Security has been heightened since the attacks by ISIL. Or we could have a confrontation with the antiquity authorities,” Cathey said with a shrug. “But we should be gone before they’re aware of our presence.”
Should be. Tox gritted his teeth that Almstedt had signed off on this little excursion, knowing the risks to the team. Then again, their job came with risks.
It took twenty minutes to hoof it to the ziggurat. They entered a portal of carefully laid brickwork that formed a tunnel.
Tunnels. Why did it have to be tunnels? Painful memories of being buried alive in Kafr al-Ayn rushed back at him.
The path sloped down, taking them out of the Iraqi heat and into the musty, cooler underground.
