Lucas Pryce leaned back in his leather chair and put his feet up on his desk, puffing another cigar to life after pouring himself a tumbler of 30-year-old Macallan scotch. He let the spicy aroma of cedar and coriander drift into his nose, then lungs, before exhaling the smoke out of his mouth. He closed his eyes, walling off the world inside and outside of his tent, if only for a moment.
He was so close. So close to unveiling what history had hidden away for millennia. So close to achieving what countless religious saviors before him had failed to achieve.
The birth of a new End Times harmony, one that would progress the human race forward into a new era of existence long anticipated, yet so far unable to achieve by the brightest minds and most passionate hearts.
He puffed again on his cigar, eyes still closed, feet still propped on his desk as he contemplated what he was about to achieve.
And yet…there was a wrinkle.
Silas Grey.
He had been troubled by the two newcomers ever since they had left the tent.
His tent.
Two questions kept needling him through the afternoon:
Why are they here? What do they want?
He hadn't seen Grey in nearly a decade, not since he had him as a student and Grey had joined him at the archaeological dig at Tell-es Sultan. And then made the brilliant parchment find authenticating not only the biblical story about Israel's battle against the city led by Joshua, but also the ancient, religious relic known as the Ark of the Covenant.
A giggle slipped from his mouth as he clenched the cigar, remembering how he had commandeered the scroll and took credit for the find. He felt slightly sorry for the fellow, knowing what that would have meant for his academic career. But then he thought about where that little find had led.
Had it not been for Silas, he wouldn't be sitting in a giant climate-controlled canvas tent in the Western Wall Plaza, puffing away on a cigar less than twenty-four hours before his unveiling.
A thick cloud of smoke had amassed above him during his contemplation. He pulled out his cigar and licked his lips. They tingled with nicotine and spice. He took a sip of the scotch that he had left unattended, then thought about what would transpire the day after tomorrow, when the real work began.
A buzzing sound beneath the maps of Old City Jerusalem and schematics of the Temple caught his attention.
He put his cigar back in his mouth, brought his feet down from his desk, then leaned forward to search for his phone. After retrieving it, he glanced at the screen.
Rudolf Borg.
What does he want?
He took a long swig of the caramel liquid then swallowed it in one hard gulp, enjoying the burn as it slid down into his empty stomach.
“Rudolf,” the man on the other end of the phone said, sounding unconvincingly happy to hear from him.
There was that dreadful, Southern twang. How he hated the man from Chattanooga. “Dr. Pryce, how are you? I trust your preparations are coming along smoothly.”
“Lord willing, and the creek don't rise.”
What was he talking about? The man had a funny way about him, that’s for sure. But he’d sure gotten results. Nous’s resources had been well spent.
“I take it that means you are set for our little…unveiling tomorrow.”
“Yes. Sorry, sir. Just a little expression us Southerners like to use. All is going according to plan. Remarkably so, if I might add.”
“Good, good.”
Borg paused, letting the silence linger before he laid into his reason for calling.
“I heard you had a visitor today.”
He was met with silence at the other end. Which he expected. Pryce hadn’t known of the amount of monitoring Nous had undertaken to ensure this phase of their operation went off without a hitch. One of his operatives had caught sight of Grey and the SEPIO operative known as Bourne entering into the Old City. He had followed them to a hostel, then to their room where he listened in on their conversation about approaching Pryce and learning about the excavation. After nearly getting caught, he reported back to Borg immediately.
“Yes...” Pryce said, fishing for words. “Yes, I’ve had many visitors today, as you might imagine.”
“The two I’m referencing go by Silas Grey and Celeste Bourne. They paid you a visit a few hours ago. Isn’t that right?”
The man hesitated, then said, “Yes, my former student and a colleague of his. They came to offer their congratulation. I must say, it was wholly unexpected. But then again, Silas had always angled to touch the hem of my garment.”
“Then you don’t know who they truly are.”
“Truly are?” he replied, sounding confused. “I know Grey is a simple professor at Princeton, of historical theology and religious relics or something. The woman I had understood was a colleague of his.”
“That’s only partially true. Bourne is the director of operations for SEPIO, a special-ops entity of the Order of Thaddeus. Earlier this year, they had recruited Grey for a special operation to protect the Shroud of Turin, and then the Church of the Holy Sepulcher.”
Borg's throat clenched with emotion for a moment as he recalled the disaster that was supposed to have thrust Nous into a new phase of religious resistance and spiritual enlightenment. The Church's insistence that Jesus of Nazareth had been raised from the dead had always been central to its teachings. He and the Council of Five and Thirteen believed that if they took out the Holy Shroud bearing the supposed image of the resurrected Christ, the tangible experience of the memory of the resurrection, then the Christian faith would begin to weaken. After all, nowadays it was the tangible, the concrete, the experiential that ruled the hearts and minds of the world.
Then there was Jacob Crowley, his dearest Jacob, who died at the hands of that wretched man. His childhood lover had sacrificed himself for the cause, and with nothing to show for it. Borg vowed Grey would pay.
“My, Lanta,” was all that Pryce could offer.
“So you didn’t know?”
“Know that my former student was an operative with a secret Vatican-run outfit supposedly stretching back to the time of the earliest founders of Christianity? What are you saying, Rudolf?”
“I’ll take that as a no.” Borg heard a crash, as if glass had broken.
“Heavens to Betsy!”
“You alright, professor?”
There was silence. And then, “I spilled my scotch, that’s all.”
Spilled or threw?
“At any rate,” Borg continued, “I need to know what exactly you spoke of, and if they gave any indication of what they are planning.”
“As I said, Grey said he came to offer his congratulations for my archaeological success. And get in on the action by offering his assistance, as he said, but I took that to be more jest than anything. We talked a bit about how we came about the passage and the chamber. Then I…”
Pryce drifted off, as if remembering something of importance.
“Then you what, Pryce?”
“Then I gave them all-access passes to the site so they could have a front row seat for the unveiling.”
“You what?” Borg exclaimed. Imbecile. The man from Chattanooga would be the death of him.
“I had no idea they were ecclesiastical holy warriors, for Pete’s sake! His arrival had taken me completely by surprise, I didn't know how to respond. He was a former student, as well as a reputable expert in his field. And since his original find a decade ago was partly responsible for the whole kit and caboodle to begin with, I thought it appropriate. Naturally, I'll cancel their passes at once.”
“No. Don’t do anything.”
“Why? You said it yourself. They’re dangerous. My head has been throbbing all afternoon wondering why he came here and what he wanted. Now I know he aims to cause us trouble.”
“Not necessarily. I cannot imagine SEPIO is aware of our involvement. And frankly, your work would seem to support their agenda. Let them keep their passes. In fact, letting them have free reign will serve us well.”
“Why?”
“As Sun Tzu said: ‘Keep your friends close and your enemies closer.’ We’ll continue to monitor their movements and make you aware of any developments with them and the Order. And you keep me apprised of anything they might see or do. Understood?”
There was an audible sigh on the other end. “Understood. How is the second phase fairing?”
None of your business. Instead, Borg said, “We’re making progress. I’ll be in touch.”
With that, he closed his sat-phone and started heading down to the crypt where the Council awaited his update.
Soon, a new epoch of enlightenment would be ushered in.
And the three Abrahamic faiths won’t know what hit them.