The Messiah Code

They are in you and in me; they created us, body and mind; and their preservation is the ultimate rationale of our existence...they go by the name of genes.

Ah, but a man's reach should exceed his grasp, or what's a heaven for?

W
as it really true? After two thousand years of waiting had the prophecy finally come to pass in his lifetime, during his leadership?

The Sikorsky helicopter passed over Petra, its shadow flitting like an insect over the ancient city carved into cliffs of rock. The magnificent statues and pillars glowed red in the late afternoon light, but Ezekiel De La Croix didn't look down; for once he was oblivious to the breathtaking beauty of the deserted city below him. Keeping his eyes on the horizon ahead, he searched the endless ocean of sand for the place the helicopter would eventually set down.

One of his two fellow passengers--their dark suits as creased as his own--stirred beside him. Both men slept, exhausted from their journey. They had not rested since traveling to Geneva, where they had interrupted his board meeting at the Brotherhood's Bank in order to bring him the news.

The news that would change everything. If it were true.

Checking the Rolex on his wrist, Ezekiel brushed a hand through his thin white hair. From the time he'd been told what had happened, to chartering the plane to Amman and boarding the Brotherhood's waiting helicopter, it had taken a whole working day to get here, as well as costing

thousands more Swiss francs than the scheduled flight. But then money had never been an issue for the Brotherhood, only time--two thousand years of time.

They should be only minutes away now. He nervously twisted the ring of leadership on his finger--a blood-red ruby mounted in a cross of white gold--and reassured himself that he couldn't have come here any sooner.

The rhythmic whup-whup of the rotor blades served only to heighten his tension as the helicopter sped across the sand, leaving the cliffs of Petra far behind. A further ten minutes elapsed before he finally saw what he was looking for: five lone rocks clustered in a defiant fist against the surrounding desert. He sat forward and looked down at the tallest pillar of rock, over forty feet high. Its crooked shape seemed to be beckoning him. A shiver ran down the back of his neck. The power of this place had always moved him, but today it was almost too much to bear.

The five rocks appeared on few maps, and then only as a series of contour lines, never a name. Few outside the Brotherhood were aware of their existence, apart from the ancient water finders, the Nabataeans, who thousands of years ago would wander this sandy wilderness. And in more recent centuries, the nomadic Bedouin. But even these Princes of the Desert avoided the cluster of rocks, eschewing their meager shade, preferring to move on to Petra in the north. For reasons known only to themselves they felt uneasy going too close to this place they called Asbaa el-Lah--the fingers of God.

"Going down!" shouted the pilot above the noise of the rotors.

Ezekiel said nothing, still mesmerized by the rocks looming up below him. Parked under the overhang of one were three dusty Land Rovers. A fan of matting was draped from their rear bumpers to cover their tracks in the sand. Clearly other members were already here.

Ezekiel glanced at the men asleep beside him. In the world outside the Brotherhood one was an eminent American industrialist, the other a prominent Italian politician. Both were members of the six-strong Inner Circle and Ezekiel assumed that the others had already assembled by the

Sacred Cavern. He wondered how many more from the Brotherhood had also been drawn here by the rumors. Even their organization's obsession with secrecy couldn't hide this.

As they neared the base of the tallest rock, the noise of the rotors seemed to increase in volume. When the helicopter finally landed Ezekiel De La Croix threw open the door and, with a grace that belied his sixty years, leaped out onto the sun-baked ground. Squinting against the stinging grains of sand, he hurried from under the rotors. Ahead he could see an opening in the tall rock. A man, dressed in a lightweight suit, stood beneath the cave's archway and Ezekiel immediately recognized him as Brother Michael Urquart, another member of the Inner Circle. Urquart had been a highly successful lawyer, but when Ezekiel looked at his bloated, aged frame he worried whether the Brother, like so many others in the Inner Circle, was now too old and too tired to meet the new challenges ahead.

Ezekiel extended his right hand, taking Brother Michael's in his. "May he be saved," Ezekiel said.

The Brother's left hand then clasped his, the two hand-shakes forming a cross. "So he may save the righteous," replied Urquart, completing the ancient greeting.

Their hands parted and Ezekiel demanded, "Has it changed again?" His eyes dared the man to tell him his grueling journey had been wasted.

Brother Michael's tired face broke into a smile. "No, Father Ezekiel, it is still as you were told."

The tension Ezekiel felt in every muscle only allowed him to return the briefest flicker of a smile. Ignoring the other two Brothers now alighting groggily from the helicopter behind, he patted Urquart on the shoulder and walked into the cave.

The eroded space was no different from any of the natural caves found in these parts, some ten feet high, with a width and depth approaching twenty feet. There were no obvious signs of man's intervention, apart from the torches resting against the walls. But ahead of him in the gloom Ezekiel was relieved to see that the concealed portal in the far wall had been opened; the heavy stone could take ages

to lever aside. Walking through the opening, Ezekiel De La Croix was greeted by two large gas lamps, illuminating a mosaic floor and walls carved with the names of all those who had gone before: the thousands of Brothers who had waited in vain for this moment to arrive. In the center of the chamber were the Great Stairs, a rough-hewn spiral staircase that snaked its way two hundred feet down into the rock beneath the sands of Jordan.

Without waiting for the others, Ezekiel made his way down the worn steps. He ignored the rope handrail, using the cool surface of the stone walls to steady himself as he made the descent. At the bottom the inky darkness was beaten back by flame torches, flickering in a subterranean breeze blown in from the labyrinth of air tunnels. In this pulsing light the carvings and frescoes on the low ceiling seemed to dance before him.

From here he entered the meandering passageway that led to the Sacred Cavern. Restraining himself from breaking into a run, he hurried down the passage, his heels clicking on the smooth rock floor polished by countless feet before him.