“Now, tell us about the script,” Austin said. “It’s definitely Phoenician?”
Saxon calmly appraised the papyrus. “No doubt about it. The Phoenician twenty-two-letter alphabet was the single greatest contribution their culture gave to the world. The word alphabet itself is a combination of the first two letters. Arabic, Hebrew, Latin, Greek, and eventually English all trace their ancestry to the Phoenicians. They wrote from right to left, continuously, because they used all consonants. Vertical strokes act as punctuation to divide sentences and words.”
“Forget what we can’t read,” Austin said. “Start by reading what you can. Even the Rosetta stone was missing some text.”
“You should have gone into motivational therapy,” Saxon said.
He picked up a spiral-bound notebook and a pen and bent over one end of the papyrus. He licked his lips, scribbled in his notebook, and went on to the next text fragment. Sometimes, he studied a single word; other times, several lines of writing. He mumbled to himself as he worked his way down the length of the papyrus.
At the end, he looked up with triumph gleaming in his eyes.
“I could kiss you, old boy!”
“I make it a habit not to kiss anyone with a mustache. Man or woman.” Austin said. “Tell us what it says, please.”
Saxon tapped the notebook. “The first fragment is written by Menelik, who describes himself as the favorite son of King Solomon. He talks about his mission.”
“Menelik is the son of Sheba as well,” Austin said.
“Don’t be surprised that she’s not mentioned. Solomon had many wives and girlfriends.” He pointed to a few lines of text. “Here he says that he is grateful for the trust. He repeats this theme a number of times, which I find extremely interesting.”
“In what way?” Austin said.
“The legends say that when Menelik was young, he and a half brother, the son of Sheba’s handmaiden, stole the Ark of the Covenant from the Temple and took it to Ethiopia to establish the Solomonic line of kings. Some say it was done with Solomon’s knowledge, and a copy built to take its place. One story has him spirit the sacred Ark off to Ethiopia. In another, he redeems himself. Plagued by guilt, he returned the Ark, and Solomon forgave him.”
“Solomon practiced motivational therapy as well,” Austin said. “Who better to trust than someone trying to make up for a past misdeed?”
“Solomon’s reputation for wisdom was well deserved. There are writing fragments on the papyrus that indicate Menelik was transporting a cargo of great value.”
“Nothing more specific?” Austin said.
“Unfortunately, no. The rest of the papyrus is basically a ship’s log. Menelik is the author, which means he must have been the captain. I found the word Scythians, repeated a couple of times. The Phoenicians often hired mercenaries to guard their ships. There is reference to a ‘GreatOcean,’ some weather observations, but the main part of the log is obscured by mold.”
“Now it’s your turn to cheer me up,” Austin said with a shake of his head.
“I think I can do that,” Saxon said. He pointed to several un-stained sections. “The roll was wrapped very tight here. The mold couldn’t get in. These lines describe a landfall. The captain talks about sailing into a long bay, almost like a small sea, where he could no longer smell the ocean.”
Austin came to attention. “The Chesapeake?”
“It’s a thought. The ship anchored near an island at the mouth of a wide river. He describes the water as more brown than blue.”
“I noticed the muddy quality of the water when we set out today,” Zavala said. “We passed an island near Aberdeen Proving Grounds.”
Austin still carried the Chesapeake Bay chart in a plastic map pouch. He unfolded the creases and spread the chart out on the floor. Borrowing a grease pencil from Saxon, he marked an X near Havre de Grace at the mouth of the Susquehanna. “We’ve got our Phoenicians cooling their heels here. What did they do with the cargo?”
“Maybe they hid it in a gold mine,” Saxon said.
“Your book suggested that Ophir was located in North America. Are you saying that this thing was hidden in King Solomon’s mine?”
“When I first started looking for Solomon’s mine, I concentrated on the area around the Chesapeake and Susquehanna,” Saxon said. “There was extensive gold mining within walking distance of Washington a hundred years before the big California Gold Rush of 1849.”
“We know that,” Austin said.
“Thelma Hutchins mentioned that her husband was aware of the gold mines,” Zavala said.
Saxon nodded. “There were more than a half dozen mines along the Potomac, from Georgetown past Great Falls, around the turn of the century. At least fifty mines operated in Maryland on both sides of the Chesapeake. The gold was found in rocks from the Piedmont Plateau, which runs from New York to South Carolina.”
“That’s a lot of territory to cover,” Austin said.
“Agreed. I started looking for evidence of Phoenician contact. I found it not in Maryland but farther north, in Pennsylvania. A cache of stones with Phoenician writing on them was discovered near the state capital at Harrisburg.”
“What sort of stones?” Austin said.
“A man named W. W. Strong collected around four hundred stones found near Mechanicsburg in the Susquehanna River valley. Dr. Strong interpreted the markings on them as Phoenician symbols. Barry Fell thinks the writing is Basque. Others say the markings are natural.”
“Hold that thought,” Austin said. He went out to the Jeep and returned with the stone he had retrieved from the wreck. Saxon’s jaw dropped to his Adam’s apple.
“Where on earth did you get that?”
“I brought it up from my dive on the shipwreck.”
“Astounding!” Saxon said. He took it from Austin, holding it as if it were made of glass, and traced the inscribed line with his finger. “This is Beth, the Phoenician symbol for house, later to evolve into the Greek B. It ties the wreck into Mechanicsburg.”
Austin drew a second X at the wreck site in the bay, and a third at the mouth of the river. He connected the Xs with a line and extended it up the river.
“The trail grows cold at Mechanicsburg,” he said.
“Not exactly. I’ve studied this area for years. Trekked a good deal of it on foot and by vehicle. If any location holds promise, it is this.” He drew a quick circle around an area north of Harrisburg. “St. Anthony’s Wilderness has always intrigued me because of the stories of a long-lost gold mine. There’s even a Gold Mine Road that runs through it. The area is rife with legends of abandoned towns and mining villages. It’s extremely rugged. It’s one of the few stretches of territory that hasn’t been developed.”
“Legends are one thing,” Austin said. “Facts are another.”
Saxon turned his attention back to the papyrus. “There’s an un-stained section here that has the only mention of a mine. The surrounding words have been blotted out by mold, except for a phrase that describes a horseshoe river turn.” Saxon’s long finger traced the river to a prominent U-shaped bend in the Susquehanna. “St. Anthony’s Wilderness is east of the bend.” He shook his head. “It’s a huge area. We could search for years without finding anything.”
Austin slipped a piece of paper from the chart pouch and placed it next to the map. A curving line on the paper matched the river bend on the map. Other squiggles denoted mountains and valleys to the east of the river. “This is a copy of a Phoenician map of Solomon’s mine. It was found with some Thomas Jefferson papers.”
“Jefferson? That doesn’t make any sense.”
“We’re hoping it will in time. What do you think of the map?”
Saxon read the Phoenician writing on the paper. “This shows exactly where the mine is in relation to the river.”
“Before we get too ecstatic, I have to point out a problem with this,” Austin said. “The Susquehanna is a mile wide and a foot deep, as the locals say. It’s studded wit
h rapids and islands. There’s no way a ship of Tarshish could have made its way upriver.”
“But cargo could have come down,” Saxon said. “The river would have been deep enough for a boat to come down during the spring snowmelt.”
“Tricky, but possible with the right kind of boat,” Austin admitted.
“The right kind of boat was called a Susquehanna Ark,” Saxon said with a smile. “They started running them in the 1800s from Steuben County, New York, downriver to Port Deposit, Maryland. They were basically big pontoon rafts, seventy-five feet long and sixteen feet wide of beam. They came down in the spring flood tide as the snow melted, carrying produce to market. The arks would be dismantled, their lumber sold, and the crews walked home. It took eight days to float down and six to walk back. They carried millions of dollars in cargo before the railroads put them out of business.”
“A simple but brilliant concept,” Zavala said. “The Phoenicians could have used the same technique to transport gold.”
Saxon let out a hearty laugh. “Rider Haggard will be spinning in his grave. He and the rest of the world have assumed King Solomon’s mines were in Africa.”
Zavala had been looking at the maps. “I have a problem of my own. There’s a body of water covering the site pinpointed on the old map.”
Saxon’s eyes followed Zavala’s pointing finger. “So it is. That complicates matters.”
“Only a little bit,” Austin said. “I suggest we pull the Special Assignments Team together for a water-search operation tomorrow,” Austin said. “It’s a short hop to St. Anthony’s Wilderness by helicopter. We can be there first thing in the morning.”
“Splendid!” Saxon said. I’ll go over the papyrus again, and dig into my research, in case I’ve missed something.”
Austin pinched his chin between his thumb and forefinger. “Solomon went through a lot of trouble to hide this relic from mankind’s eyes.”
Zavala sensed the seriousness in his colleague’s voice. “I think you’re saying we may be grabbing a tiger by the tail.”
“In a manner of speaking. Let’s say we find this object. What do we do with it?”
“I never thought of that,” Saxon said. “Religious artifacts have a way of stirring people up.”
“My point exactly,” Austin said in a flat tone that caused Saxon’s brow to crease. “Solomon might have been a lot wiser hiding this thing than we are looking for it.”
NUMA 7 - The Navigator
Chapter 43
CARINA WAS STRETCHED OUT on the bed, staring at the ceiling for lack of anything better to do, when she heard a soft knock. She investigated and found that someone had left a wicker basket with her clothes outside the door. She picked up the note from on top of the neatly folded pile.
Dear Miss Mechadi. Please join me for dinner at your convenience. VB
“How absolutely civilized,” she murmured as she shut the door.
Carina couldn’t get the white dress off fast enough. Wearing her own clothes gave her a sense of control. She knew that it was only an illusion, but it felt good anyhow. She reread the note. She would have preferred not to spend another second with Baltazar, but she knew that he held the key to her fate.
She threw her shoulders back and marched down the deserted hall to the courtyard. A guard was waiting to escort her to the other wing. She was ushered into a spacious dining room done in a Spanish motif. The walls were pale stucco, edged with colorful tile, and decorated with wall hangings. Tall terra-cotta urns were tucked into the corners.
The valet appeared and seated Carina at a leather-topped table with wrought-iron legs. The table was set for two, and illuminated with ornate iron candelabra.
Baltazar arrived a minute later, dressed in black tie, as if for a formal ball.
“Miss Mechadi, how nice of you to join me,” he said with the warmth of old acquaintance.
Carina smiled without humor. “Did I have a choice?”
“We all have choices, Miss Mechadi.”
Baltazar snapped his fingers, and the valet filled their wineglasses with a hearty rioja. He raised his glass in a silent toast and didn’t seem bothered when she ignored the gesture. She picked at her salad and the fragrant paella that was the main course. She pushed away the flan dessert but sipped at her espresso.
They ate their meal in silence, like an old married couple with nothing left to say to each other. Baltazar asked how she had enjoyed the meal and the wine. Carina answered with a grunt.
“Good,” he said. He produced a thin cigar, which he lit, keeping his eyes on Carina the whole time. “I have a question,” Baltazar said, his head hidden behind a cloud of purple smoke. “Do you believe in divine destiny?”
“I don’t know what you mean.”
“I’m talking about the concept that the course of our lives is dictated not so much by our acts but by our fate.”
“Predestination is not a philosophy that is original with you.” She looked him straight in the eye. “I believe that we are all responsible for the consequences of our behavior. If you jump out of a window of a tall building, the consequence will be your death.”
“You are quite correct. Our acts do affect our lives. But I must ask you to ponder the unfathomable forces that would make me want to jump out of a window.”
“What are you getting at?” Carina said.
“It’s very difficult to put into words. I can show you better than tell you.”
“Do I have a choice?”
“In this case, no,” he said, rising from his seat. He snuffed the cigar out in an ashtray and came around to pull her chair back. Then he escorted her to the portrait gallery.
“These are some of my forebears,” Baltazar said. “Do you see the family resemblance?”
Carina gazed at the dozens of paintings that hung on the walls of the large room. Most of the men had been painted wearing decorative armor. While the faces in the portraits often differed physically, many, including the women, possessed Baltazar’s wolfish gleam in their eyes, as if predatory instincts had been passed on in their genes.
“Yes,” she said. “There are definite family characteristics.”
“This lovely lass was a countess,” he said, going over to the eighteenth-century oil of the young matron. “She’s quite special.”
He put his face inches from the portrait and pressed the carved panels to either side. Carina thought he was kissing the painting. Noting the bewildered expression on Carina’s face, he explained about the eye and hand scans. He guided her down the stairway to the steel door, with its combination lock.
The door swung open. Carina was surprised to see the glass-enclosed cabinets that lined the walls. “It looks like a library,” she said.
“This room holds the family archives of the Baltazars. These volumes contain our history going back for more than two thousand years. This is a treasure trove of intrigue in Europe and Asia during that time.”
He went to the far end of the library and opened another door. He removed a torch from a wall sconce and lit it with his cigarette lighter. The flare from the torch illuminated the curved stone walls of a circular room. Carina stepped into the room and saw the statue beckoning at her with outstretched arms.
“Dear God! What is that thing?”
“It’s an ancient offering statue. It has been in my family for thousands of years.”
Her eyes took in the pointed nose and chin and the leering mouth, features made even more prominent by the leaping shadows from the fluttering torch.
“It’s hideous.”
“Some people might think so. But beauty is in the eye of the beholder. It’s not the statue I wanted to show you; it’s this volume.”
Baltazar stuck the torch into a tall metal stand and went up to the altar. He lifted the lid of the gem-studded chest and opened the wooden box inside it. Then he removed the bound sheets of parchment.
Carina didn’t want to satisfy Baltazar by showing interest, but she couldn’t contain her curios
ity.
“They look very old,” she said.
“Nearly three thousand years old. The language is Aramaic. The pages were written in the time of King Solomon.”
“Who was the author?” Carina said.
“The founding matriarch of the Baltazar family. Her name is lost in time. She refers to herself, and is referred to by others, as ‘Priestess.’ Would you like to hear what she wrote?”
Carina shrugged. “I have nothing better to do.”
“I can recite the contents by heart. She introduces herself here on the first page. She was a pagan priestess who was a favored concubine to Solomon. They gave birth to a boy child who was named Melqart. As I said before, Solomon was a fickle man. He became smitten with Sheba.”
“My ancestor,” Carina said.
“That’s right. They had a boy whom they named Menelik. Solomon gave the priestess to Sheba to be her handmaiden. She had little choice but to obey. The boys grew up together, but Menelik remained the favored son. When they were teenagers, Melqart, at the bidding of his mother, persuaded his half brother to steal a treasured object from the Temple. Menelik eventually returned it, and both boys were forgiven by their father, but he enlisted them into the Phoenician navy through his friend Hiram.”
“What was this treasured object?”
“The Ark of the Covenant. More important, the original Ten Commandments that were contained in the Ark.”
“The clay tablets Moses brought down from the Mount?”
“No. These were of gold. In the Bible they are referred to as the Golden Calf. Moses is said to have destroyed them, but that was not the case.”
“Why would he want them destroyed?”
“The tablets were written when the old religions were in flux. The tablets would have caught people’s attention before Moses could sway them in the direction of the religion he was preaching.”