17 |

Aksum Emperor Yohannes IV Airport
Aksum, Ethiopia
Present Day

 

Acton stepped down from their chartered jet, a Boeing Business Jet Convertible, much larger than they were accustomed to, their cargo much heavier than normal.

But it was still air-conditioned.

He tugged at his shirt, the heat already oppressive. “Good thing it isn’t summer.”

Laura appeared unaffected after years of desert digs. “On our way back, I want to stop at the dig in Egypt, see how my old students are doing.”

Acton watched as the Ethiopian groundcrew quickly unloaded several pallets of equipment, along with supplies to tend to their needs should their hosts not be able to provide the basic necessities without sacrificing to the point it affected their own.

“You are true to your word!”

Acton turned to see a smiling Father Amanuel, his hands outstretched. He grasped Laura’s shoulders, delivering a kiss to each cheek, then did the same to Acton.

“You have everything you need?”

Laura smiled. “Assuming the diesel generator arrived.”

Amanuel nodded. “It arrived earlier. We’ve already loaded it.”

“Excellent. It’s of sufficient power to keep everything going, and we’ve brought a battery backup that will last several hours should there be any delays in refueling. We also have all the supplies necessary to build the portable containment chamber you requested.”

Amanuel’s head bobbed in appreciation as he eyed the pallets. Some words were exchanged, and soon everything was loaded into the back of several old trucks that appeared to be vintage World War Two surplus. “I am excited to get started on this project.” He led them to a nearby notorious British luxury car that had seen better days, a Mercedes hood ornament replacing the jungle cat.

Does that make it more reliable?

“How far is it?”

“Not far.” He held open the rear door. “You’ll ride with me. It will be much more comfortable than the trucks.”

Acton climbed in, sliding to the far side, and Laura followed. Amanuel joined them and closed the door. The driver, dressed in the yellow robes of a monk, started the car, and they pulled away, the trucks following. They drove in silence for some time, giving Acton an opportunity to take in the small, bustling city of Aksum. Long the poster child of poverty and failure, Ethiopia was slowly making a turnaround, and evidence of that surrounded them in the forms of new construction, and luxury goods hawked from street vendors and storefronts alike.

But the poverty was evident, too many emaciated frames peppering the street corners with hands out, begging for scraps or change. It made him thankful they had brought their own supplies, for he didn’t expect there to be much to go around where they were heading.

This was among the poorest of the poor countries.

Yet cellphones abounded.

And weapons.

AK-47s and other variants seemed almost ubiquitous, and it had Acton wishing they had weapons of their own. He spotted an AK-47 on the front seat of their “Mercedes,” and wondered if the driver knew how to use it, or if it was there for show.

A warrior monk?

It wasn’t unheard of in history, the Templars the most obvious example, though he doubted he would be willing to put his life, or that of Laura’s, into their driver’s hands.

They soon left the city, Father Amanuel evidently more comfortable outside of the hustle and bustle of Aksum, now more animated in his hosting duties, pointing out various landmarks, churches, and places where he had preached in his younger days.

It was an interesting if bleak drive, and Acton found himself drifting in and out of sleep from the jetlag, when the driver made a sudden turn off the road and into the grass lining it, forcing Acton wide awake from the jolt of adrenaline surging through his body. He stared ahead, spotting a slight trail carved through the grass, and said nothing, though Laura’s hand was gripping his a little tighter than a moment before.

They came to a jarring stop, their driver using the emergency brake, making Acton wonder if they had any functioning regular brakes.

“We’re here.”

Acton’s eyes narrowed as he stared out the window. There was nothing in sight beyond a windswept plain, grass gently blowing in the breeze, a few scattered trees about.

And not a single structure that might house a person, let alone the Ark of the Covenant.

The driver opened the door for Father Amanuel, and Acton opened his own, stepping outside and making a quick scan of the area, still finding nothing, before helping Laura out.

He turned to Amanuel. “Where are we?”

“My church and my home.”

Acton exchanged a confused look with Laura. “But there’s nothing here.”

“Looks can be deceiving.”

Amanuel strode forward, toward nothing, as far as Acton was concerned, their transport trucks arriving and parking behind them. Acton took Laura’s hand and they followed the elderly priest, Acton’s head on a pivot as he tried to find any evidence of civilization when Laura tugged on his hand.

“Look!”

Acton turned and squinted at where she was pointing, not sure of what he was seeing. It appeared to be a moat, carved into the ground, a near-perfect rectangle, guarding another lying within. And as they neared, the first few steps of a staircase, cut into the bedrock, descending into the moat, became visible.

And he gasped as he realized what lay before them.

“Unbelievable!”