The Atlantis revelation

28

It was half past four when Conrad's Town Car turned off the country road and onto a long private drive lined with stately palms and cypresses. The end of the gravel drive opened like a dream to reveal the majestic Villa Feltrinelli and its octagonal tower overlooking the waters of Lake Garda.

The Feltrinelli family, who made their fortune in lumber, had built the villa at the end of the nineteenth century. By the middle of the twentieth century, in the waning days of World War II, the villa became famous as the final residence of Italian dictator Benito Mussolini before his execution. In the twenty-first century, Swiss management had turned the Villa Feltrinelli into one of Europe's most private, secure, and romantic luxury hotels, an unspoiled paradise far from the cares of the outside world.

The perfect place, Conrad thought, for a rendezvous with Serena.

A young Swiss miss welcomed him as Baron von Berg in the grand entry hall with a bouquet of rosebuds. Conrad looked past the circular sofa and carved wooden benches to the marble staircase with tall stained-glass windows and gilded mirrors. There were twenty-one guest rooms in the main villa, including the Magnolia Suite where Mussolini had slept. For Serena's sake, Conrad had booked the private boathouse outside the main villa, away from the other guests.

A sporty Italian bellman named Gianni took Conrad's weekender bag that he had purchased in nearby Desenzano after his six-hour ride from Bern involving two trains, one passport check, and one transfer in Milan.

"Guten Tag, Baron von Berg," said Gianni in passable German. "Where is the baroness?"

"She has her own ride."

They walked outside the covered pergola and past the pool with ducks and terraced gardens toward the lakeside boathouse. Two couples were enjoying afternoon tea on the lawn while a third played a game of croquet. Nothing was forced, including the prosecco offered to Conrad on a floating tray. Life and love seemed to flow quite naturally here.

"We have our own yacht for cocktail cruises," Gianni told him. "You can arrange for a motor launch to take you and the baroness around the lake and even explore the medieval castle at Sirmione."

"That sounds wonderful, Gianni," Conrad said, sipping his drink.

The boathouse was spacious enough, with dark wood paneling and eggshell linens and upholstery. Its tall windows with sheer lace curtains offered a spectacular view of the lake.

Once the young bellman had closed the door on his way out, Conrad turned to find a dessert tray of lemon mousse sprinkled with fruit and edible flowers, a jasmine-scented candle burning on the nightstand, and rose petals strewn throughout the marble bathroom.

The only thing missing from this perfect romantic scene was Serena.

He looked at the antique Rolex, his gift from Baron von Berg. It was almost five o'clock, and Serena's seaplane was due to land on the lake any minute now.

Conrad removed the watch and adjusted the dial until the Roman coin fell onto the table. He then pulled out a set of two books titled Coinage and History of the Roman Empire that he had picked up at a rare coin shop in Desenzano. The pages were thin, the lines single-spaced, and the font small, which made reading hard, but he found what he needed.

Conrad picked up the ancient Roman coin.

It looked almost like an American quarter, with Caesar instead of George Washington on one side and an eagle on the other. But this eagle looked quite distinctive, with a club on its right and a palm frond on its left. Indeed, it looked just like the medallion Serena wore around her neck.

He took a closer look at the letters engraved around the coin's rim:

UROUIERAS KAIASULOU

Instantly, he knew the translation. He had come across it on coins during his digs beneath the Temple Mount in Jerusalem:

OF TYRE, THE HOLY AND INVIOLATE

He flipped to a page with the heading "Judas's Thirty Pieces of Silver" and a quote from the Gospel of Matthew:

Then one of the 12, called Judas Iscariot, went unto the chief priests, and said unto them, "What will ye give me, and I will deliver him unto you?" And they covenanted with him for 30 pieces of silver.

The book said the coin was a so-called Shekel of Tyre, or temple tax coin. It was the only currency accepted at the Jerusalem temple, so it was most likely the coinage with which Judas had been paid for betraying Jesus Christ.

The bust on the front didn't belong to any Roman emperor, Conrad realized, putting away the coin books. It belonged to Melqarth, the god of the Phoenicians, with a laurel wreath around his head like Caesar's. Better known as Baal in the Old Testament. Sacrilege to Orthodox Jews, to be sure. But these coins were the only ones close enough to pure silver to be accepted at the temple. Roman coins were too debased.

He searched for a date on the coin. He found it on the reverse side, left of the eagle and just above its club.

EL

That was the year 35 C.E. on the Julian calendar-or 98 B.C., according to contemporary calendars. Well within the time of circulation during Jesus' lifetime.

It was certainly not the Tribute Penny that Jesus had used to advise followers to go ahead and give their tax money to the state but their whole hearts to God. If anything, the shekel represented quite the opposite-man-made religion that trusted not in the God of heaven but in Caesar and the power structure of this world. The penny was blessed, in short, and the shekel cursed.

Like the Dei.

Conrad's concentration was broken by the sound of a prop engine. He looked out to the lake and saw Serena flying in. Hopefully with some answers, for once.