To distinguish themselves from combatants, the UN personnel wore white flak jackets and helmet covers, prominently displaying the letters of their organization. A similarly adorned banner was draped across the rear of each Humvee, hopefully reinforcing the message to the local populace that their excursion into the city had only peaceable motives.
The convoy moved at a safe but deliberate pace of eighty kilometers per hour, along highways that were virtually empty. In a modern city of six million souls, the lack of automobile traffic was vaguely disturbing, but Baghdad was still recovering from the brief siege that had heralded the end of a dictatorship. Certain parts of the city were still without electricity and running water, and there were reports of gasoline shortages and long lines — even riots — at refueling stations.
Navigating by means of a GPS system, the lead vehicle in the column charted a decisive course toward the city. Their route took them along the main highway within sight of several palatial complexes, some of which were now only shattered memories of their former opulence. As the road drew parallel with a westward curving segment of the Tigris River, the convoy threaded between the Sujud Palace and the military parade grounds, both of which bore testimony to heavy bombing and ground battle. Kismet did not strain for a better look. He loathed the idea of playing ghoulish tourist.
The journey progressed uneventfully, but the comfort level inside the Humvee bottomed out rapidly. The Lexan windows remained closed as a protective measure, bottling up the musty odor which emanated from the cracked upholstery. To make matters worse, the driver informed them that he would be running the vehicle’s heater in order to dissipate the rising engine temperature. The interior quickly became a claustrophobic hot-box.
“A pity Marie couldn’t join us,” mused Chiron, raising his voice to be heard over the incessant roar of the engine. It was the first comment the older man had made on the subject — the first thing he had said all morning really, except for a few brief utterances in preparation for departure.
“She didn’t strike me as the rugged, adventurous type. I’d say she’s lucky to have stayed behind.” Kismet then threw a sidelong glance in the other man’s direction. “I thought that it was your decision.”
Chiron smiled cryptically. “I found a pretext with which to discourage her from joining us, but I did so for your sake.”
“I don’t understand.”
“Nick, it’s been clear to me from the start that whatever this thing that drives you, it is a deeply personal matter.” He leaned over the upraised platform covering the drive shaft and lowered his voice to a stage whisper. “You’ve kept it secret even from me. What you haven’t told me only fires my curiosity. Shall I review?
“You are sent on a clandestine meeting in the desert with a defector. The man seems to have information about you, and believes you will be interested in a very precious relic, unearthed in the ruins of ancient Babylon. What was that relic? Never mind. I suspect I don’t want to know.
“Then your meeting is violently interrupted by a man who also claims to have knowledge about you. Both men believed that you will have an interest in whatever this relic is, but you claim no particular desire to possess this, or any other artifact of the ancient world.
“I have tried to offer whatever help I can. And I have let you keep your secrets. It is clear that the beginning of this labyrinth begins with a discovery here, in the sands of Iraq — the ruins of ancient Babylonia — and perhaps by returning to source, we will be able to find the thread of Theseus and a solution to this mystery.”
“Theseus.” Kismet echoed the word in a distant voice, his mind elsewhere. He knew he ought to trust Chiron. The Frenchman had certainly demonstrated uncompromising fealty, without demanding a full disclosure of his own personal agenda.
“Pardon?”
“You mentioned Theseus — the warrior in Greek mythology who survived the labyrinth designed by Daedelus and slew the Minotaur. It made me think of something.” He drew in a deep, contemplative breath. “The truth of the matter is that I’ve never shared all the details of my search because most of it is just too unbelievable.”
“I think I can keep an open mind.”
“I told you about the men who attacked us that night and about their leader. What I didn’t tell you was his name. He seemed more than eager to share it at the time: Ulrich Hauser.”
“Ah, a German perhaps?”
“He told me that he was not part of any nation’s army, but he and his men obviously had military training. He told me something else. When I asked who he was — not just his name, but the reason behind his actions — he said: ‘We are the chains of God, sealing Pandora’s box for the preservation of mankind. We are Prometheus, guiding the destiny of the world until humanity is ready to ascend Olympus.’ I’ve never forgotten those words.”
“Ah, thus the association with my mention of a figure from Greek myth. Prometheus, the Titan who stole fire from the gods and gave it to mankind. But what’s the connection to these ‘chains of God’? If memory serves, Zeus chained Prometheus to a mountain, where he was tormented until Hercules set him free. I don’t recall anything about his sealing up Pandora’s box; in fact, Pandora was created as Zeus’ retribution for the theft of fire.”
“I didn’t say I knew what it meant,” confessed Kismet. “From the context, and from some bits and pieces I’ve put together over the years, I’ve come to suspect that they might be some kind of mystery cult.”
The convoy exited from the main highway, entering the city streets, and the driver’s assistant relayed the message that they would be arriving momentarily. Kismet nodded in acknowledgment.
“A modern mystery cult.” Chiron was quick to return to their conversation. “The Pandora’s box reference could indicate their belief that mankind is unready for some secret knowledge that only they possess.”
“I told you it was hard to believe.” He feigned a chuckle, trying to conceal his discomfort with the subject.
“And this artifact? It would have had great significance to them? And to the world?”
Kismet shifted in his seat, but did not answer. The question had been rhetorical anyway.
Chiron began ticking off facts on his fingers. “Let’s see, we have a relic unearthed in Babylon, from the period of Nebuchadnezzar’s conquests. It is something uniquely significant; not some potsherd or clay figurine, but a treasure that might upset the balance of the world. In his day, Nebuchadnezzar conquered most of the Middle East, even taking tribute from Egypt. Most noteworthy to moderns of course was his victory over Jerusalem. The city was razed and all of the treasures of Solomon’s temple were carried off as spoil.”
He paused, his gaze intensifying as he looked across the seat. “Have I found the thread, Nick?”
Kismet shrugged. “I didn’t get a very good look at it, whatever it was. In any event, it’s gone. It sure as hell isn’t here anymore.”
“Then what do we hope to learn today?”
He laughed. “I thought we were trying to protect the cultural history of Iraq.”
Chiron sat back with a smug grin. “There, you see? You have secrets which even now you do not wish to share. I understand, but Marie is curious. She would ask the same questions, but demand a better answer. That is why I have left her behind.”
“Pierre, I promise that one day, I will tell you everything. Right now, it’s so confusing that even I don’t know what to believe.”