"The ark was covered from inside as well as from outside," the story went on, "with some
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kind of dark brown color" resembling "wax and varnish." The wood of which the ark was built was excellently preserved except 1 ) at the hole in the front of the ship, and 2 ) at the door-hole at the side of the ship; there the wood was porous and it broke easily.
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THE RUSSIAN EXPEDITION
"During the examination of the surroundings around the lake ... there were found on one of the mountaintops the remains of some burned wood 'and a structure put together of stones,' resembling an altar. The pieces of wood found around this structure were of the same kind of wood as the ark."
An eyewitness is said to have stated: As the huge ship at last loomed before them, an awed silence descended, and "without a word of command everyone took off his hat, looking reverently toward the ark; and everybody knew, feeling it in his heart and soul," that they were in the actual presence of the ark. Many "crossed themselves and whispered a prayer." It was like being in a church, and the hands of the archaeologist trembled as he snapped the shutter of the camera and took a picture of the old boat as if it were "on parade."
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Our guide, Yavuz Konca, reported that an elder Kurdish tribal chief remembered just such a Russian discovery in the summer of 1917. At the time, he was a young man of eighteen years of age. He recalled an unusual event that summer in which returning Russian soldiers came into the village throwing their hats in the air and shooting their rifles. When he inquired as to the celebration, he was informed that they had discovered Noah's Ark on Mount Ararat.
A detailed account stating the description and measurements of the ark, both inside and out, together with photos, plans, samples of wood, were sent at once by special courier to the office of the chief commandant of the Army--"as the Emperor had ordered."
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"Professor Murphy?"
Murphy looked into the center section of the amphitheater and smiled. Don West, one of his more serious archaeology students, had his hand raised.
"Yes, Don!"
"What happened to all the pictures and measurements that were taken by the Russians?"
"Good question, Don. The answer is, we don't know
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for sure what happened to them. Many believe that they were destroyed during the Russian Revolution. But I'd like to think they might be gathering dust in some forgotten archive. And there's an intriguing story that backs up their findings. One of the relatives of a member of the expedition worked as a cleaning maid in the Czar's palace. She testifies to having seen the pictures and reports. They were shown to her by the chief medical officer of the expedition. She says that the pictures show that the ark was three decks high, and on top of the roof there was a catwalk that was about knee-high with openings underneath."
Murphy clicked the projector again.
"There are a number of other people who have claimed to have seen or even climbed on Noah's Ark, but I would like to discuss only one more. His name is Ed Davis."
Murphy paused to gather his thoughts when the door to the lecture hall opened and he recognized the silhouette of Levi Abrams framed in the light. What could have brought him here, he wondered, before continuing.
Those Who Claim to Have Seen Noah's Ark
Who:
Ed Davis.
When:
The summer of 1943.
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Circumstances:
While working for the Army Corps of Engineers, friends take him up Mount Ararat to see Noah's Ark.
"Ed Davis was working for the 363rd Army Corps of Engineers. He was working out of a base station in Hamadan, Iran, building a supply route way station into Russia from Turkey. His driver, Badi Abas, pointed to Agri Daugh, or Ararat, and said, 'That's my home.'
"The conversation turned to Noah's Ark and Abas told Davis that he could take him to see it. They drove to the foothills of Ararat and began hiking. On the way they passed a village whose name meant where Noah planted the vine . Davis said that the grapevines were very old and so big that he could not put his arms around them. Abas then told Davis, 'We have a cave filled with artifacts that came from the ark. We find them strewn in a canyon below the ark. We collect them to keep them from outsiders who would profane them.' Davis said:
That night, they show me the artifacts. Oil lamps, clay vats, old-style tools, things like that. I see a cage-like door, maybe thirty by forty inches, made of woven branches. It's hard as stone, looks petrified. It has a hand-carved lock or latch on it. I could even see the wood grain.
We sleep. At first light, we put on mountain clothes and they bring up a string of horses. I
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leave with seven male members of the Abas family and we ride--seems like an awful long time.
Finally we come to a hidden cave deep in the foothills of Greater Ararat. The cave was at about the 8,000-foot level near the western wall of the Ahora Gorge. They told me that T. E. Lawrence [of Arabia] hid in this cave. There's fungus there that glows in the dark. And they say Lawrence put it on his face to convince the Kurds he was a god and get them to join him in his war against the Turks.
Eventually we run out of trail for the horses. After three days of climbing we come to the last cave. Inside, there's strange writing, it looked beautiful and old, on the rock walls and a kind of natural rock bed or outcropping near the back of the cavern.
The next day we hike for a while. Finally Abas points. Then I see it--a huge, rectangular, man-made structure partly covered by a talus of ice and rock, lying on its side. At least a hundred feet are clearly visible. I can even see inside it, into the end where it's been broken off, timbers are sticking out, kind of twisted and gnarled, water's cascading out from under it.
Abas points down the canyon and I can make out another portion of it. I can see how the two pieces were once joined--the torn timbers kind of match. They told me the ark is broken into three or four big pieces. Inside the broken end of the biggest piece, I can see at least three floors and Abas says there's a living space near the top with forty-eight rooms. He says there are cages inside
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as small as my hand, others big enough to hold a family of elephants.
It began to rain. We had to return to the cave. The next day it was snowing so bad that we could not climb down to the ark. We were forced to leave the mountain. It took five days to get off the mountain and back to my base.
The lights were turned on and several hands were raised. Murphy could see Levi Abrams standing behind the back row smiling that big Israeli smile. Their eyes caught each other's and there was a barely perceptible nod of heads.
"Yes, Carl!" Murphy pointed to his right.
"Professor Murphy. In the Badi Abas story, Davis mentions that the ark is broken. In the other sightings the ark was all in one piece. Why don't the stories match?"
"We're not sure, Carl. It's possible the first sightings of the ark were when it was on a cliff above the Ahora Gorge. The movement of the glacier and/or an avalanche could have toppled it into the gorge and the fall broken it into sections. Ararat is known for earthquakes and avalanches."
Murphy glanced at the clock on the wall. He knew that the bell would ring in a few moments.
"We're almost out of time, but before the class is over, I want to give you an assignment."
Those who had already closed their notebooks anticipating the bell groaned and opened them back up.
"I want you to do a study and see what you can find in history about Noah and the Flood. Jesus even talks about Noah when He says in Luke Seventeen:
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Just as it was in the days of Noah, so also will it be in the days of the Son of Man. People were eating, drinking, marrying, and being given in marriage up to the day Noah entered the ark. Then the Flood came and destroyed them all. It was the same in the days of Lot. People were eating and drinking, buying and selling, planting and building. But the day
Lot left Sodom, fire and sulfur rained down from heaven and destroyed them all. It will be just like this on the day the Son of Man is revealed.
"Noah's Ark is a testimony that God will not let wickedness run unrestrained forever."
"Professor Murphy, I have a question," said a student named Theron Wilson.
"Go ahead, Theron."
"Do you think we will ever really find the ark?"
The question momentarily stopped Murphy in his tracks. Finally he said, "There's probably a reason it's been hidden all this time. And God would need a good reason to let someone reveal it to the world again. It could be that revealing it now would send a message, a message about how much evil there is in the world and how we have to do something about it. Maybe now would be a good time for someone to go looking for it."
There was a pregnant silence as his audience pondered his words. And then the ringing of the bell brought them all back to the present.
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ELEVEN
VERNON THIELMAN was smiling to himself as he took a deep breath of the cool night air. It was Friday night and he was glad he wasn't working the graveyard shift. He pushed the light button on his watch.
Ten-thirty. Almost done and the night is still young .
The full moon was making his job as night watchman a breeze. From the top of the roof of the Smithsonian, he could see anyone entering the parking lot that flanked the back two sides of the building. As he moved diagonally across the roof to the other corner, he could see 5th Street, which ran north and south, and Milford Boulevard, which ran east and west. The traffic was light for a Friday night.
After the violent death of two night watchmen and the theft of one section of Moses' Brazen Serpent from the Parchments of Freedom Foundation, a security guard had been placed on the roof. Despite the anxiety
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the deaths had engendered, the roof duty was regarded as relatively safe. His job tonight, after all, was to see and report, not to confront anybody or put himself in harm's way. Given that the security staff had negotiated extra danger payments, Thielman thought he had a pretty good deal.
It was hard to believe, but it appeared that the two guards had been killed by birds. Peregrine falcons to be exact. Birds of prey that had been trained to use their razor-sharp talons and beaks on man, instead of their usual quarry, pigeons and crows. It seemed pretty unlikely that such a bizarre incident could ever happen again, but Thielman was taking no chances. Every time he heard a squawk or a flutter of wings, his hand went straight to the security baton in his belt--ready to beat off any feathered attacker. And he had already checked the roof area several times for any lurking falcons.
Tonight, happily, he hadn't seen so much as a sparrow.
He did, however, see a dark-green Jeep drive slowly down 5th Street and turn right onto Milford. The Jeep stopped across the street from the foundation and a large man eased himself out. He looked in both directions as if he were going to cross the street, but then just stood by the Jeep. Then the man looked up at the roof and Thielman had the uncanny feeling he knew he was there. He couldn't see the man's face, but something about the situation sent a shiver up his spine.
Thielman stepped closer to the edge of the roof to get a better look, but the man's face remained in shadow.
Suddenly the man by the Jeep raised his hand, held it in midair for a few moments, then snapped it down
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against his thigh. Instantly Thielman heard an earsplitting shriek behind him and swiveled to see a dark shape arrowing down toward his face. Fumbling at his belt, he instinctively took a step backward and tripped over a taut monofilament line stretched between two steel air outlets. Turning awkwardly, he managed to break his fall by gripping the guardrail surrounding the roof.
For a second he congratulated himself on his swift reactions. Not so bad for an old guy , he thought.
And then the rail snapped in two like a stale bread-stick and he was plummeting through space, spinning crazily as the ground rushed up to meet him in a crushing embrace.
By the time the stranger had ambled over to Thielman's body, with its crazy arrangement of limbs sticking out at odd angles, the last muscle spasms had finished their grisly dance, and everything was still. He paused for a moment to savor the pungent aromas of violent death, then dragged the corpse around to the back of the building and heaved it into the bushes.
He looked up as a starling gently settled on his shoulder and began to preen itself. He bared his teeth in a sickly smile. Starlings were mischievous birds and great mimics.
"You seem to have scared our friend here out of his wits, little one."
The bird gave a trill, cocked its head once, and flew off. The man moved silently to one of the large windows and removed a handful of tools from a backpack. First he held up what looked like a TV remote, pointed it at the window, and pressed a series of buttons. After a few
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seconds a red light winked on and a single beep told him the alarm system had been neutralized.
Next, he applied a suction cup to the window and attached an arm with a glass cutter.
Putting pressure on the glass cutter, he made an arcing circle around the suction cup, then tapped the circle once with a gloved hand and the glass popped out with the suction cup still attached. He set it on the ground, put away his tools, and slipped through the hole in the glass.
On the third floor of the building, another security guard methodically checked the doors as he walked down the corridor. So far everything was secure. Nothing out of place. Another quiet night.
He worried that maybe it was too quiet. He'd been experiencing problems with his hearing recently--his wife swore she had to shout to get his attention--and when he found himself wrapped in total silence, he couldn't be sure that he simply wasn't registering low-level noise. The kind of noise that could be significant in his line of work.
That faint grunting sound, for instance, gone as quickly as it had come. Did he imagine that? Or was it actually a shout--another guard in trouble somewhere in the building--and he should be rushing to his assistance, calling for backup, every lost second a matter of life and death?
He stopped. A thud. Definitely a thud. Like a bag of flour hitting the floor. Followed by more silence. But the silence was somehow eerier this time.
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He quickly unlocked the door to one of the offices, slipped inside, and crossed to the window overlooking 5th Street. Nothing out of place. Still, better safe than sorry. He radioed to Thielman on the roof.
No reply.
Not good. He felt his skin go clammy. Then he punched more numbers into his walkie-talkie.
"This is Robertson to Caldwell. What's your location?"
"This is Caldwell. I'm in the basement."
"Okay. I'm going to the roof and see why Thielman isn't answering. Why don't you work your way up and join me?"
"I'm on my way."
Robertson headed for the stairs. But slowly. He'd give Caldwell plenty of time to catch up. No point taking more chances than he had to.
Talon heard the door to the basement open and quickly slipped into the shadows next to the stairwell. A few seconds later Caldwell jogged past him. Talon was momentarily startled by the security guard's speed. In his experience these rent-a-cops took their time over everything--especially investigating suspicious situations--but this one seemed determined to get to the source of trouble as quickly as he could.
In which case, Talon really ought to point out that he was heading in the wrong direction.
"Excuse me, sir."
Caldwell spun around, his hand instinctively going to the automatic on his hip.
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"I seem to be a little lost."
Caldwell approached cautiously, unable to make out the features of the man lurking in the stairwell. "You certainly are, sir. Can you come out into the light, please?"
"Of course," Talon said, stepping smartly forward while simultaneously sweeping his righ
t arm across Caldwell's throat. Before Caldwell could react, his larynx was severed, along with both carotid arteries. He slumped to the floor as twin fountains of blood painted the wall a garish red.
Talon carefully wiped the blood off his artificial index finger onto Caldwell's jacket and smiled. "Thanks for your help. I think I can find my own way now."
When Robertson reached the roof, Thielman was nowhere to be found. He walked over to the corner overlooking 5th Street and Milford. All was quiet except for a green Jeep parked across the street. As he walked along the Milford side of the roof, his flashlight illuminated the broken guardrail. He looked over the edge and could see something on the pavement that looked like a large oil stain. He then crossed to the corner overlooking the two parking lots. He swept his flashlight in a slow arc over the ground toward the bushes.
He gasped as he saw two black shoes sticking out.
He pulled his automatic out of its holster, slipped off the safety, and hurried back toward the roof door. He had one thought in mind. Get to the fourth floor and set off the alarm . Seven minutes later the place would be swarming with cops.
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All he had to do was make it through the next seven minutes.
Isis McDonald's unruly mop of startling red hair was spread out on her desk, her pale face pillowed on a dusty copy of Seagram's Glossary of Sumerian Script . The book lay open at the page she had been reading when she fell asleep. It was not so much that she'd been working for twelve hours straight (that was a common occurrence when a philological problem remained unsolved, and therefore a cause of mild but constant irritation); it was more that, since her sense of time completely deserted her when she was immersed in her work, she simply laid her head down for a nap whenever she felt tired.