She picked the key up and tapped her mic once, before turning towards the door on the right of the throne. The door looked as if it led to an ante-room for disrobing or something similar, but over the door was the Hebrew Yod character representing God, and Morgan felt a sense of trepidation as she turned the key in the lock.
On the other side, a short corridor opened out into a circular chamber, and in the centre was John Soane’s tribute Ark, said to have been destroyed in the fires of 1863, but clearly saved and kept secret ever since. Morgan knew that officially it had been the repository for the Articles of Union, when the two great Lodges came together under one banner, but that had evidently been just one part of the story.
The room was hung floor to ceiling with rich tapestries, vividly depicting the building of the Temple of Solomon, giving the room a muted feeling of being cocooned in rich fabric. Soane’s Ark was about four feet high, a triangular classical structure with miniature Doric, Ionic and Corinthian columns representing wisdom, strength and beauty. It was plain with no decoration, like an austere tomb, with three steps topped with kneeling cushions leading to a pair of double doors. Thick candles burned either side and the scent of incense hung in the air.
Whatever this was, Morgan thought, it definitely did not hold the Articles of Union, for surely they wouldn’t be worshipped in this way.
“Is it there?” Martin’s voice in her ear betrayed his excitement.
Morgan knelt on the top step and pulled open the double doors. They swung outwards to reveal a gold chest with two cherubim on top, their wings meeting in the middle where the presence of God would sit. Morgan’s heart was thumping now, but this chest couldn’t be the real Ark because it was too small and looked relatively new. She pulled a small webcam from her bag and mounted it on her torch, so Martin could see what she was looking at.
“Oh wow, is that it?” he said.
Morgan signaled ‘unsure’ with her hand in front of the camera. Bracing the torch, she felt a moment of unease, a hesitation at revealing what could be the most important relic of Judaism. Whatever her personal doubts about religion, the Ark was of crucial historical importance. Taking a deep breath, she leaned forward and opened the chest.
Inside lay four objects. A length of hardwood with gold inlaid on one surface, a palm sized fragment of stone with chiseled words on it, a vial filled with white flakes and a piece of rounded staff.
“The Ark contained the tablets of the Law, manna from heaven and Aaron’s Rod,” Morgan whispered aloud as the sound of rushing waters filled the room, like a celestial waterfall. She suddenly felt an overwhelming wave of emotion as her thoughts raced through stories of her childhood, snapshots of an old faith. She wanted to weep and prostrate herself here, not caring about being found, only desiring to be in the presence of these sacred things. She reached out her hand to touch the piece of the true Ark.
“Morgan, there’s trouble out here.”
Martin’s voice broke her concentration and she jerked her hand back, shaking her head to dispel the emotions that threatened to overwhelm her. What just happened? Morgan wondered.
The rational part of her mind tried to examine what was going on, even though she could still feel the tremors of emotion within her.
“A van just pulled up to the entrance.” Martin’s voice was frantic now. “Oh hell, Morgan they’ve just rammed the doors.” A sound of muffled gunfire came from below. “It looks like there are six of them. They have guns. Morgan, you’ve got to get out of there.”
She spoke into the mic.
“The Ark is here Martin, or at least fragments of it. I can’t leave this here for them to take.”
Martin was almost shouting now. “I can see from the cameras they’re on their way up to you. Get out, Morgan, please. Just leave, we can’t deal with this ourselves.”
The gunfire had stopped, but Morgan could hear muffled sounds of crashing and banging coming closer. This was no stealth mission, just a determined, violent attempt to snatch the Ark. She looked around for some kind of weapon but only the large candlesticks looked to be of any use. She tried to lift one but it was too heavy.
Morgan turned to the tapestries, pulling one back to reveal a slim alcove behind it. She squatted down low and calmed her breathing again, hearing voices in the Temple as the bronze door was pushed open. A guard was begging for his life even as he led the intruders towards the sanctuary. The voices drew closer and then they were in the room.
“The Ark has already been opened, so much for your secrets.” There was a crack of metal against bone, a grunt and the noise of a body dropping to the floor. Morgan recognized that voice. Natasha El-Behery had found her again.
“Dr Sierra, I know you’re in here. Your so-called genius tech guy is no match for my hacker resources, and we’ve been shadowing your Freemason research with interest.” The voice came smooth as honey, then gunshots peppered the room, shredding the tapestries in a wide arc at shoulder height. Morgan crouched as low as she could while bullets ripped into the wall above her head. She shuffled down even further until she was almost lying at the bottom of the alcove as Natasha continued. “When I found a piece of the Ark in Ethiopia, I knew that it would be difficult to trace the other pieces, but you found the key for us in Jordan. The Freemasons have the rest of them, split between the Lodges in England as a symbol of their power.”
The bullets came again, this time at waist height, barely missing Morgan as they pockmarked the wall behind her. She pulled the mic from her ear, placing it just under the corner of the tapestry facing into the room. She knew Martin would be trying to call for backup but at least there would be evidence of what was happening to her.
“The other fragments are being collected as we speak. My men are raiding lodges up and down the country, and soon the Ark will be fitted together again. It will return in triumph to Jerusalem, which will drown in blood because of it, but you’ll have to miss that happy event.”
Morgan’s heart was thumping with anger and frustration as well as fear but she didn’t want to cower behind this cloth, waiting to die within the shroud of the Temple. She rolled out from under the tapestry. Two men grabbed her and held her fast while two others stood in the shrine along with Natasha. She was dressed in black leather, her long hair tied into a slick bun, bright red lipstick on her mouth. A painted doll, and a brutal killer.
“There you are,” Natasha purred as she took a step back. “Hold her.”
She signaled to one of the men next to her. He grinned, a leer of anticipation on his face as he put down his gun and stepped towards Morgan. She braced herself for what was to come, not wanting to give Natasha the satisfaction of watching her flinch.
The man’s fist exploded into the side of her face. Another punch came quickly and she grunted as blood gushed from her nose and her mouth filled with the salty tang. She coughed and spat but barely managed to take a breath before he punched her in the solar plexus, the intense pain amplified by the knife wound that had not healed completely.
Morgan doubled over, winded and sagging in the arms of the men who held her. Natasha stepped close and bent down, trailing a finger across Morgan’s lips, covering them with her own blood.
“Taste this and know you will die here.” She straightened again. “But a bullet is too good for you and we don’t have time to beat you to death, although I would have enjoyed watching it. So you will burn, tied to Soane’s Ark as a testament to your failure.”
Morgan squashed the pain into a corner of her mind, trying to focus on what was happening. She could see through a haze of tears and blood that two of the men were carrying the smaller gold chest containing the pieces out into the main Temple. She felt a great tug of emotion at seeing it leave. There was certainly something supernatural in there, for the emotions it stirred resonated deep within her.
“You can’t win, Natasha,” Morgan managed to speak although her jaw was throbbing with pain. “The Ark is too strong, even for you. I know you can feel its pull.”
Natasha turned in surprise. “Even you believe in this magic? I’m surprised, for I thought you were a woman of science. But this is just another piece in a religious conspiracy and I’m taking it to where it belongs.”
“The Ark can’t go back to Israel,” Morgan pleaded. “The country will rip itself to pieces fighting over it.”
Natasha smiled. “There are many who would celebrate that consequence. Enough now. Tie her.”
One of the men stuffed a piece of shredded tapestry into Morgan’s mouth, as they pushed her against Soane’s Ark and wound more of the material around her, binding her to it. Natasha’s eyes took on a wicked gleam.
“Wait,” she said. “Hold out her hand.”
Morgan struggled in their grasp but the men held her steady. They stretched her left arm out, pinning her wrist. Natasha pulled out an ornate sacrificial knife.
“This was in the Museum, just down the hall. I thought it would go nicely in my own collection but perhaps it should stay here with you.”
She caressed Morgan’s clenched fist with her fingertips, and then slashed at her knuckles with the knife. The pain was delayed for a millisecond but then Morgan gasped as the agony flashed through her.
“Open it,” Natasha demanded. One of the men prised Morgan’s fingers open and Natasha thrust the knife through her palm, pinning her to Soane’s Ark. Morgan screamed into the gag, a roar of frustration and anger mingling with the pain. She struggled to breathe. “Your blood will drip into the empty place where the pieces of the true Ark once sat,” Natasha said. “A fitting end,
I think, for the inner sanctum to be desecrated by the blood and death of a woman. ”
The two guards finished tying Morgan, binding her tightly. She felt the contours of Soane’s Ark on her back and in the depths of her pain, she saw the guards splashing some kind of accelerant as the stink of it filled the room. They threw it over Morgan, soaking her hair, and as it dripped into her wounds, she howled through the gag as it burned on her skin.
Natasha flicked open a lighter and lit the tapestry next to the door, then she bent and lit two other places. She watched as they caught and smoke began to fill the room, smiling with a look that was almost jealousy.
“See you in Hell, Morgan. I hope you’re still burning when I get there.”
She stalked after the men carrying the smaller Ark.
Morgan watched her leave as the flames began to take hold and lick their way towards her, the heat already intense as the accelerant caught. She heard gunfire again, hoping that it wasn’t for Martin. The smoke made her cough into the gag and the stench made her want to retch but she tried to suppress the urge. She struggled in the bonds, the pain from her stabbed hand lancing up her arm, even as she failed to loosen the ties. The Soane Ark was old, dry wood. It would burn fast and with it, she would die.
Flames reached the bottom step and Morgan shuffled her feet away as far as she could while smoke billowed from the tapestries in an acrid cloud. The first lick of flame on her skin was almost cold as it took its time to register, then suddenly it seemed that the air was filled with color. For a moment, Morgan could see heaven as Isaiah had described, the glory of God and the angels with six wings. Then the shock of pain ripped through her and her vision faded to black.
Grand Lodge of England, 3.01am
Martin listened to the disaster unfolding from the safety of the van, frozen and unsure what to do. He heard Morgan’s torture and watched as Natasha and her men strode out of the broken door of the Grand Lodge, put the chest into the van and drove off into the night.
Martin knew he should do something but he didn’t know what. They were on an illegal mission that the Director wasn’t aware of and he didn’t know the protocol for this situation. Yet, Morgan was hurt, or worse and he was just sitting here, but he couldn’t do anything. He felt frozen with fear and the academic side of his brain told him that it was the freeze reflex, a survival mechanism.
Martin rocked back and forwards on his seat, thoughts tripping over themselves in his head. He was just a researcher, he shouldn’t be out here, shouldn’t be helping with this. It was only because he knew that this was what Jake would have done that he had agreed to it at all, but he wasn’t a field agent and there was nothing he could do. But now Morgan was burning alive in the temple.
A window exploded above him, raining broken glass onto the pavement below in shards of blue heaven. Smoke billowed out and there was a whooshing sound as air swept into the building, feeding the flames.
“Morgan,” Martin whispered, afraid he was leaving her to die with his indecision.
A banging shook the van door.
“Open up, Morgan’s in trouble. It’s Ben, we’re here to help.” The old man’s voice was urgent as he continued to bang on the door.
Martin was finally startled from his frozen position and unlocked the door to see the priest, Father Ben Costanza, and with him, another old man.
“Where’s Morgan?” Ben asked.
Martin’s face blanched and he pointed to the Lodge, where bodies lay half out the door, a bloody trail of carnage left behind by Natasha and her men. Ben pulled up his cassock and started to run as fast as his old legs would carry him towards the Temple. He turned back to Martin.