Templar's Code

CHAPTER 2

“. . . leaving no question in my mind that the Ark of the Covenant was a form of ancient technology inherited from the Egyptians,” Caedmon Aisquith told his audience, more than a few of whom had a copy of his book Isis Revealed in plain sight.

“Next question?” He pointed to a woman sitting in the front row of the library reading room. At least four dozen jurists’ chairs had been placed in the middle of the room, turning the book-lined chamber into a makeshift lecture hall.

The bespectacled attendee glanced from side to side, verifying that she was indeed the chosen questioner. “Yes, I’m, um, curious about your recent trip to Ethiopia, which you briefly mentioned in the lecture. How do you know the Ark of the Covenant isn’t hidden there?”

Discreetly glancing at his wristwatch, Caedmon saw that there was nearly five minutes left in the Q&A session. Ample time to flesh out the answer. Stepping over to the nearby table, he scanned the thumbnail picture gallery on his laptop. Image selected, he accessed the PowerPoint display, projecting a map of Ethiopia onto the screen behind him.

“For those of you unfamiliar with the tale, Menelik, the illegitimate son of King Solomon and the Queen of Sheba, supposedly stole the Ark of the Covenant from his father’s fabled temple in Jerusalem and took it to Ethiopia in the mid-tenth century B.C., where it’s reputedly still hidden, safeguarded by the priests at St. Mary of Zion located in Axum.” Using a laser pointer, Caedmon indicated an area in the northeastern quadrant of Ethiopia, Axum, located one hundred kilometers from the Red Sea.

“Keen to explore the theory, my research assistant and I traveled to Ethiopia this past January.” He gestured to a woman with long, curly brown hair standing on the sidelines, leaning against a bookcase. Attired in an ankle-length denim dress with a crimson red shawl tied not around her shoulders but around her hips, she was the lone peacock in the drab-feathered flock. “At this juncture, allow me to introduce my traveling companion, photographer Edie Miller.”

As if on cue, every head in the group swiveled to the left.

Edie Miller acknowledged the collective stare with an amused half smile.

Introduction made, he next pulled up a stunning photograph of St. Mary’s taken at sunset, the stone building bathed in a tangerine glow.

“After visiting numerous monasteries and chapels, examining scores of illuminated manuscripts, and interviewing the chief priest at St. Mary’s, I can now punch a very big hole in the Menelik theory.” He took no pleasure in the announcement, certain at one time that he’d find the Ark in Axum. “While a tabot, that being the Ethiopian word for ark, is safeguarded within the church sanctuary, it is, alas, a twelfth-century replica of the Old Testament original.”

He put the last image onto the screen, a line drawing of the Ark of the Covenant based on the description in the book of Exodus.

“Our field research in Africa was conclusive: Menelik did not take the Ark of the Covenant to Ethiopia.” Scanning the group, he squinted, barely able to see in the dimly lit library, the window shutters closed tight. “All right, who’d like to take the next stab at me? Yes, the gentleman in the blue pullover.”

A stout middle-aged man rose to his feet. “Well, if Menelik didn’t steal the Ark, who did?”

“There are a number of suspects in the rogues’ gallery. What we do know is that the Ark of the Covenant disappeared from the pages of the Bible soon after the construction of Solomon’s Temple. Whether captured or hidden, its current whereabouts are unknown. But rest assured, the Ark is out there . . . waiting to be discovered.”

Out of the corner of his eye, he saw Edie pointedly tap an index finger against her watch crystal.

Warning bell sounded, Caedmon cleared his throat. “Yes, well, that concludes our discussion of the Egyptian origins of the Ark of the Covenant. I would like to thank the chief librarian at the House of the Temple, Mr. Franklin Davis, for hosting today’s lecture.” He motioned to a gray-bearded man in the front row. He’d met the librarian at a Washington book signing some months back. When an invitation had been extended to speak at the national headquarters for the Scottish Rite of Freemasonry, he’d gladly accepted. “And, of course, I would like to extend a warm note of thanks to a most inquisitive audience.”

As the overhead lights came on, Caedmon acknowledged the polite applause with a self-conscious smile. Uncomfortable in the role of public author, he knew such venues not only sold books but also attracted individuals with a keen interest in Egyptian history. And mystery. The latter near and dear to him. While he’d been trained as a historian, he preferred to think of himself as a “rehistorian,” legend, lore, and mysticism at the heart of his research endeavors. An unholy trinity that compelled several book reviewers to wrongly accuse him of being a conspiracy theorist.

Glancing around the room, he could see a few nattering clusters milling about, most of the attendees en route to the refreshment table set up in the adjacent banquet hall. In dire need of a thirst quencher, the obligatory lecturer’s glass having already been drained, he bent over the wooden table and proceeded to shut down the laptop computer.

As he pecked away, Caedmon noticed a rail-thin man approach, a copy of Isis Revealed clutched to his chest. Shaggy-haired and disheveled, the man looked out of place in the clean-cut crowd.

“I’ve got some information about the Knights Templar that might interest you,” the towheaded man announced without preamble.

Removing his fingers from the keyboard, Caedmon straightened, giving the other man his full attention.

Long years ago, when he’d been a doctoral student at Oxford University, he’d written his dissertation on the Knights Templar, his research leading him to conclude that during their tenure in the Holy Land, the Templars had been secretly initiated into the Egyptian mysteries. To his chagrin, the dissertation he’d meticulously researched was publicly ridiculed by the head of the history department at Queen’s College. Realizing his advance degree would not be conferred, he left Oxford, tail tucked between his legs.

Whereupon he’d promptly been recruited by MI5, Great Britain’s Security Service.

MI5 actively sought men like him, defrocked academics keen to prove their worth. Such men made good spies. He’d spent eleven years in Her Majesty’s Service before returning to his first love, history. No longer concerned with how his controversial theories might be received, he’d written Isis Revealed.

Although he suspected the opening gambit would lead nowhere, Caedmon inclined his head toward the shabbily dressed younger man. “Pray continue.”

Visibly anxious, the blond man used the ball of his shoulder to wipe several translucent beads from his upper lip. Then, a determined look in his hazel blue eyes, he thrust the copy of Isis Revealed in Caedmon’s direction.

“Open it.”

Thinking the impolite command odd, Caedmon took the proffered volume.

A half second later his jaw slackened as he read the handwritten message scrawled on the inscription page.

The Templars brought the Ark to the New World in the fourteenth century.

I have the proof!