Duncan heard a noise, the slightest of movements. Her senses were running on super-alert, every input magnified. She reluctantly put the Grail back in the Ark’s cradle and turned. The four sphinx heads mounted on the poles that held up the white veil surrounding the Ark had all turned toward the chamber’s entrance. Their ruby eyes were glittering, as if they were alive.
Duncan was a slight woman, her slender body weighted down with the garments she had on. She wore the robes of the ancient one who had tended to the Ark. The costume was elaborate and precisely layered. First, a white linen robe; over it a sleeveless blue shirt that Mualama had called the meeir, then the ephod, a coat of many colors fastened by two stones at the shoulders; the essen, a breastplate encrusted with a dozen precious jewels of various colors; and over her short black hair a crown, made of three metal bands. Each band represented two things, according to Mualama: the three worlds of existence, heaven, hell, and the Earth, and the three divisions of man, spiritual, intellectual, and physical. At least those were the legendary representations.
It was this clothing that had allowed her to pass the inspection of the four heads. Airlia technology was built into the clothes and accoutrements, technology that mated with the guard system of sphinx heads and had allowed her to pass unscathed.
She turned from the Ark, which rested on a waist-high black platform. The Ark of the Covenant was three feet high and wide and slightly over four feet long. It was gold-plated and the two long poles that had been used to carry it were poking out on either end through the rings on the bottom of the Ark — just as it had been described in the Old Testament.
The most intriguing aspect were the two “cherubim-sphinxes” on the lid. They were shaped exactly like miniature versions of the head of the Black Sphinx, with ruby-red eyes. As soon as she had entered the veil, both had turned and fixed their inhuman gaze on her, as had their cousins on the top of the veil poles. A sophisticated, automated defense system that had existed for millennia to guard the contents of the Ark.
Duncan walked to the veil and slid through. A tall man in a dark robe stood in the tunnel entrance — Al-Iblis, Duncan had no doubt. Two men in unmarked desert camouflage with automatic weapons stood behind him. Al-Iblis was tall, a couple of inches over six feet. A hood left his face in shadow, the glint of dark eyes the only thing visible in that dark pocket.
“Give me the Ark,” Al-Iblis said.
“Where is Professor Mualama?” Duncan asked.
“I’m holding him outside. If you do not give me the Ark, I will have him killed.”
“Then kill him,” Duncan said coldly.
A long silence followed that statement.
“You don’t even know what you have,” Al-Iblis finally said.
“I have the Ark which holds the Grail.”
Al-Iblis laughed, a sound like worn brakes going downhill. “You have no clue what the Grail is, do you?”
“I know I have it and you don’t,” Duncan said. “If I give it to you, then I have nothing. That would be stupid. I don’t believe you are someone to be trusted.”
“Then I will take it from you.” Al-Iblis gestured and the two men dashed forward, weapons ready.
They made four paces when the two veil-pole heads on that side released a flash and bright red beam that struck each man in the chest. There was a sharp sizzle, and both men fell to the floor, a hole burned neatly through their chests.
“That was even stupider,” Duncan said.
“They matter nothing,” Al-Iblis said. “There was always the chance the security system might not work after all these years. Even Airlia technology has the potential for failure. Come here. Give me the garments so I may get the Grail. If you do not, I will have your friend killed very slowly. I have men trained in causing pain.”
“If I give you the clothing or the Ark, then I will be the next victim of those men,” Duncan said.
Al-Iblis reached inside his robe and pulled out a 9 mm pistol. “I could kill you,” he said to Duncan as he took aim at her, his hand perfectly steady and on target.
“Then you would leave these—” she ran her hand down her body “—here with my body and these clothes are the only way someone can get close enough to open the Ark. Nothing will change.”
Al-Iblis nodded. “All right. A standoff. I have much experience at that. I have dealt with kings and prophets and heads of state. I will raise the ante elsewhere then.” Al-Iblis paused before he left. “Perhaps you do have an idea how important the Grail is?”
“Perhaps,” Duncan said.
“Who are you?” he asked her. “Why have you sought the Grail?”
She met his gaze and held it. “Who are you?” she asked in turn.
“They currently call me Al-Iblis.”
“Who are they?” Duncan had heard the name, but she knew little about the man behind it.
Al-Iblis considered the question, as if it had never been asked before. “The people of the desert. Nowadays, intelligence agencies also use that name for me because they think I am a terrorist. As usual, they are clueless. In past time, prophets, seers, men who claimed to be wise and weren’t as bright as they thought. Caliphs and ayatollahs. Women who claimed to be—” He paused suddenly.
Duncan took a step forward. “What do you call yourself?”
“You want to know who I am? Perhaps more importantly, you should ask what I am. The end to all this is coming, so it doesn’t matter if I tell you. Then, perhaps you will understand how powerless you are and accept the inevitable and align yourself with me. It is the only smart choice.”
The tall man pulled his hood back, revealing a pale, narrow face with black eyes set like stones on either side of a hatchet nose. He smiled, revealing long teeth, almost predatory. “This body is just a garment, like those clothes you wear now. The body allows me to walk the Earth. I am a Shadow.”
“A shadow of what?”
“More a shadow of who.”
“Who?”
“You can call me Aspasia’s Shadow.”
Duncan shook her head. “Aspasia is dead. He was killed aboard his Talon spacecraft.”
“The original being known as Aspasia was killed. As I told you, I am a Shadow. I had his entire consciousness imprinted many years ago.” His hand went to his own chest and rested there for a second. “And because I — my consciousness — have been alive all those years, I am more than he ever was. Wouldn’t you agree?” He didn’t wait for an answer. “It is best he finally died. He was—” a twisted grin crossed his face “—out of touch? Antiquated? Like the gods of ancient Egypt, which, of course, he and his followers were. He, and his, would be out of date in this new millennium. I will lead my people to victory.”
“Your people also died with Aspasia,” Duncan said.
“No, my people — the Guides, The Mission — have struggled with me for millennia here on Earth while Aspasia and his followers hid on Mars. We have earned the right.”
“The right to what?”
“To rule. To become the Gods that Aspasia and his once were. Gods for a new age, a new world where technology is more important than faith — and we have the technology.”
“And the Airlia on Mars? The ones left behind there who control the guardian at Cydonia? Do they give their allegiance to you?” Duncan asked.
“Left behind?” Aspasia’s Shadow smiled once more without humor. “They know nothing of what it means to be left behind, almost powerless, for thousands of years. They slept while I struggled and fought here and died again and again only to be constantly reborn. Now they have no choice but to obey me.”
“There is always a choice,” Duncan argued.