“The Airlia had a penchant for hiding things underground,” Turcotte noted. Sherev nodded. “A good place to hide something, as we do at Dimona. You know, Sinai comes from the name of the ancient god that was worshipped by the first people in that area, the moon god, Sin. Some Bedouins worship the Mount, most fear it. How do we find an underground base that no one has ever found?”
“I think someone did find it,” Turcotte said.
“What is that?” Sherev asked as the suit split into two parts, waiting for an occupant.
“A second chance to rescue Doctor Duncan and destroy The Mission,” Turcotte said. He lay down inside and hit the command for the suit to close. The top rotated over and shut.
“Audio,” Turcotte ordered. He caught the end of Sherev’s question. “—are you doing?”
Turcotte stood, feeling more comfortable in the suit than he had the first time. He lifted an arm toward the bouncer. “Let’s get airborne and I’ll get us more information.”
Che Lu slowly opened the door to the conference room and peered in. The lights were dimmer and Mualama was a tall, dark form seated near the computer. He wasn’t moving and there was no sound of the keys being struck.
“You were right.”
The voice startled Che Lu. “About what?” she asked Mualama.
“Burton didn’t stop to think either before he raced off into the desert, seeking out what Kazin hinted at.”
“Show me,” Che Lu said as she turned to the large screen.
BURTON MANUSCRIPT: CHAPTER 9
I traveled with little difficulty from Damascus to Jerusalem. Then I joined a caravan that went south along the shore of the Dead Sea. We went along wadis until we reached Aqaba on the Gulf that bears the same name. That was the convoy’s end point. I was told there was nothing worthwhile to the south in either direction — in the Sinai to the west or Arabia to the east.
However, I had little difficulty enlisting the aid of some Bedouins — the only ones who could travel or live in that stark terrain — to lead me into the heart of the Sinai.
Outside the walls of Aqaba I found a small group of twenty Bedouins preparing to depart for the desert. They had traveled to the city to trade for the few items their homeland could not provide them, primarily ammunition for their weapons. They were fierce-looking men armed with guns and swords, well-mounted. I felt at home among them. I had met such men before on my travels — men who lived simply, with strict codes of conduct so they could survive in a brutal land.
As I had done before, I did not tell them of my ultimate goal, but rather simply that I wished to travel to the monastery that was located at the base of the holy mountain. Indeed, I did plan on visiting Saint Catherine’s Monastery, as it seemed to me the brothers there would know something of the mountain in whose shadow they dwelled.
The Bedouins took me in, shared their food and tents, and in the morning we departed. Instead of following the coast, as I had done so many times on my treks in Africa, the Bedouins went inland immediately upon leaving the outskirts of Aqaba. They knew their way from watering hole to watering hole, and it most certainly did not make for a direct route. Time meant nothing to these people, only desert and water mattered while they were traveling.
It was a feat I found most amazing, considering the tribe that they sought to reunite with were always on the move and could be anywhere in the vast, broken land we traversed.
But the old man who led us, Taiyaba, seemed unconcerned. He would find his tribe and family, of that he had no doubt. If it was close to Mount Catherine, then he would get me there. If not, he would just shrug and say it was Allah’s will that I not go there.
After two weeks, a short time compared to Moses’ forty years, I saw the top of two peaks in the western distance. Two days later we arrived at the monastery. The men were anxious. Mount Sinai, or Jabal Mosa, as they called it, was a holy place, one to be feared. They were also anxious to get to their families, which Taiyaba assured them were not far away, to the north and west. How he knew that, I could not tell you.
The building was made of rock and brick, huddled against a high rock wall at the base of Mount Sinai. I was disappointed in the monks. A small group of men, hacking a miserly life out of their rocky home, they were ignorant of anything unusual about Mount Sinai. They even debated among themselves whether Moses had gone up that mountain or Mount Catherine.
They were worthless. And they were puppets. I should have seen it in their eyes. As I should have seen it in Kazin’s beautiful eyes. But I was too anxious. Mount Sinai was right there, beckoning, and I was not paying as close attention as I should have.
Taiyaba offered to go with me up the mountain.
We set out at dawn. There was a track that wound through the boulders and crags. A single track almost impassable at times.
Two-thirds of the way up we crossed over a spur and came to a halt. In front of us the way was blocked by a dozen men dressed in long black robes, holding long spears. The bright metal glistened in the desert sun. Beyond the warriors, another figure loomed, standing on top of a boulder. I had seen someone like that before, and my heart raced with fear and anticipation of the coming confrontation.
“Welcome, Mister Burton.” The voice confirmed the identity, sending a shiver up my spine. Al-Iblis. He came close. “You will now tell me what you should have long ago.”
“I don’t—” I began, but he cut me off, leaning close so only I could hear. “I want the location of the Grail. And if it is back in the Hall as I suspect, I want to know where the key for the Hall is. And I assure you, you will tell me everything you know.” He gestured at his men.
One of the warriors stepped forward and tossed a purse to Taiyaba.
“You can leave now,” Al-Iblis ordered the Bedouin. “You have been well paid for your guide duties.”
“What will you do with him?” Taiyaba asked. “That is not your concern.”
Taiyaba’s hand drifted to the pommel of his scimitar. “He has shared my food and my tent.”
“You people of the desert.” Al-Iblis spit. “I don’t care for your customs. This is my place, not yours. I was here before your people were kicked out of whatever land they lived in and forced into the desert. He is mine to do with what I will. You have been paid. Go.”
“You lied to me,” Taiyaba said. “You said you only wished to speak to him and that I would guide him back to Aqaba safely.” He turned back the way he had come. “It is said among my people that lies come back tenfold to the source.” He ignored me as he went down the trail and disappeared.
I licked my parched lips, feeling the heat of the sun beating down on me. “Kazin?” I asked. “She is one of you, isn’t she?”
His lips pressed together, razor thin in what might have been a smile. “Irresistible, wasn’t she? I knew you would fall for her. She is a Shadow, like me. We have had many incarnations over the years. Isis and Osiris. Mordred and Morgana.”
“And The Mission has been here all these years,” I said.
“No. This is one of many places it has drifted to and from,” Al-Iblis said. “For now it is convenient. As it was in the past and will be again in the future. Take him,” Al-Iblis ordered.
Two of the warriors grabbed my arms and dragged me along the track. We went about a quarter mile farther to a point where a tall rock, over eighty feet high at least, jutted out of the side of the mountain like the prow of a magnificent ship. Al-Iblis waited for us at the base of this spur. He had a ring, similar to that worn by The Watchers, and he used it in the exact middle of the rock base. An entranceway, ten feet high by eight wide, appeared.
I knew if I went into that tunnel I would never come out. But what could I do? The warriors had my arms tight in their grip. Al-Iblis stepped into the doorway and was gone, as if disappearing into the gates of Hell itself.