The Secret of the Ancient Alchemist (19 page)

“
I know
and I‘m going to have a look at them.”

“
That
will not help you much. The fragments question the exaltation of
Magdalene, nothing more.”

Hart froze. It
was his hope of finding something of the missing pages. They were
part of a large collection of Papyri housed at the Ashmolean Museum
at Oxford University dating from the first to the sixth century.
Among them were two fragments of the Gospel of Mary Magdalene
written in Greek. It was his original plan to go there first hoping
to find the missing pages but the institution was temporarily
closed for fourteen days and he had to postpone his trip. In pain
and feeling pangs of bitter disappointment, he could do nothing but
swallow.

“
But, to
add a little zest to your belief, Mr. Hart,” the Patriarch
continued, “I will quote from the hidden Gospel of Thomas, Coptic
version 30 1.23: Split a piece of wood and I am there. Lift a stone
and I am there. And yet, we live in poverty amidst our great
wealth. I must leave you now.”

“
Wait,
Father!”

“
I must
leave now.”

“
Please.”

The Patriarch
stared at Hart’s face. The dirt that stained his clothes and the
blood on his hands mattered not to him, he knew. He could sense
Hart mustering strength to speak.

“
Is death
a good thing, Father?”

“
Without
death, we would not have life again.”

“
And,
what’s our new life about? Where do we go? Do you know?”

“
I’m not
sure what your point is, Mr. Hart.”

“
My point
is that there are too many mysteries in this life that are
unsolved.”

“
I
agree.”

“
Then,
why won’t you reveal what the ark holds? What ar’you
guarding?”

“
I can’t
say, Mr. Hart.”

“
What you
have may be the last piece of evidence of our future. If matter can
be super-supernatural, so can the mind. We have a realm of matter
in us. Think of what a realm of ultra-supernatural matter could do
for us.”

“
The
contents of the ark must be kept a secret, Mr. Hart. Now, I really
must go.”

“
Mr.
Hart?” a young monk called as Hart watched the patriarch
leave.

“
Yes?”

“
We know
your life is in danger. We can get you out of here safely and back
home.”

“
Thank
you. I appreciate that,” he said, touched by all kindness shown to
him.

Ten minutes
later, he was in a mule-driven cart moving downhill. His head ached
with every jolt of its wheels. Lying under piles of boxes and
crates, he moved his right hand down his pants pocket to feel for
the slip paper Father Belele had handed him. It was a lead to the
missing pages of the Gospel of Mary Magdalene, but, all he wanted
was to head back home.

And, he
did.

Chapter 40

In California,
Julius Olsen sat on his sofa with a cup of coffee, unaware of
Hart’s trials. He was thinking about the heavy rains that were
battering his neighbourhood. It was going on for two days with no
sign of let up. Flooding was expected and mudslides had already
occurred in mountain areas. He had texted Marin twice to discuss
the Inca date for a new age but Marin hadn’t replied. He had to
acknowledge the seismologist’s lack of interest in it, not to
mention his dismissive attitude on the phone the few times they had
spoken.

The tedium of
searching through Quipu sketches was over and he was sure that
change would come to the world. The universe was what he lived for.
He recalled the times his heart leapt at the observatory in
Copenhagen where he had worked. The design of the galaxies he had
seen had held him awe. Sometimes tears had come to his eyes as
emotions took over. Life was crafted by a master he knew, but, like
the supernovas he had seen every day, life would die, to begin
again. Life was sacrosanct. He couldn’t bear to see it all end and
he knew it wouldn’t, for even in Hesiod’s box there was hope. His
Inca date gave him much.

He stretched
for his phone and dialled a number.

“
Yeah,
Olsen?”

“
Tom?”
Olsen was quite surprised Hart answered. “Where the hell are
you?”

“
I just
got in. I didn’t get the missing pages of the Gospel of Mary
Magdalene but I got a strong lead.”

“
To
where?”

“
Jerusalem City. While I as in Laibela, Father Belele
suggested that I contact Ali Salaam, an Egyptian antiquities
dealer. He thinks Jerusalem City may have something but he has to
do some checking. It’s possible the pages were torn prior to being
taken to Berlin.”

“
Didn’t
you say it was in good condition when it was sold?”

“
I did
but, maybe it was missing pages. Salaam also thought it strange
that missing pages from any ancient text would be consecutive
ones.”

“
He has a
point. Some ancient fanatic would have torn them out. You didn’t
see inside the ark of course.”

“
No, but,
King Solomon had magical powers. The ark was handed down to him.
The Queen of Sheba may have taken it to Ethiopia.”

“
Go
on.”

“
According to the Book of the Glory of Kings, the Kebra
Nagast, a copy of the Glory of God was handed to Moses and kept in
the ark. Abba Garima, a Byzantine royal, may’ve accessed it. He had
many powers. I believe that supernatural matter existed in the ark.
I feel we were given a glimpse of life elsewhere. D’you know if
rods similar to the rod of Moses ever existed?”

“
Actually
yes, Tom.”

“
Yes?”
Hart’s heart leapt.

“
Bentley
said Peru has a history of them.”

“
Really?”

“
Yes.”

“
That’s amazing.” Bentley was truly a remarkable
man, he thought. He would not have achieved anything without him.
Hart marvelled at the idea of finding supernatural matter in Peru
but he placed his excitement aside for the moment. “The Oxyrhynchus
fragments of the gospel lodged at Oxford are about the exultation
of Mary Magdalene and, little else, Olsen.”

“
Don’t
worry, you’ll find the missing pages, Tom. That Jerusalem lead
maybe a good one.”

“
We’ll
see.” Olsen was too sure, he thought. It long dawned on him that
someone didn’t want them found. Without the pages, no one would
know of other worlds. Of course, he said nothing of his ordeal.
“Salaam would text me soon to finalize arrangements on that
Jerusalem lead.”

“
That’s
great, Tom.”

“
Are you
ready to talk about the date for the new age? I’m hoping Marin’s
seismic data starts changing soon.”

“
I need
to go over it with you.”

“
When?”

“
Can you
get here?”

“
I’m on my way.”

Chapter 41

A haunting
feeling loomed over him as he waited on a flight to California.
Hart felt he was being watched. Ignoring the feeling and a bit
tired, he slouched on his chair and shut his eyes. As he lifted his
head in response to his flight call, he saw a pair of brown eyes
peering at him. It was no mistake, his stalkers were back. Even
with the back pack he carried across his shoulder, he felt the stab
of a gun in his side. As he tried to move, the gun went in
further.

“
Get up
and head to the exit,” a male voice ordered.

He couldn’t see
much of the man but he could sense he was tall. The pair of brown
eyes in front of him continued to stare.

“
Who’re
you people? What do you want?” he cried.

“
Get up
now!” the male voice ordered again.

Hart was calm,
trying to stall them. It was working. It wasn’t long before both
men grew anxious.

“
One bold
move and you’re dead. Get up, Hart!”

“
Why do
you want to kill me?”

“
Get
up!”

Hart bolted
from his seat.

“
Stop
him!” The man with the brown eyes yelled at two security agents.
Before they could draw their guns, Hart pushed them aside and ran
as fast as he could. The airport was now on full alert. He had
little chance. He ran down an escalator as a bullet whizzed past
his hair. People scampered for cover. Many screamed. Gasping for
breath, Hart jumped over a Southwest counter. He tumbled onto a
luggage stairwell and pulled stacks of suitcases close to him, not
sure where he was headed. A blast of air told him he was outside
the main building.

“
Dear
God, I’m out!” he cried.

He had to think
fast. A jumbo 747 was in front of him. No, he couldn’t get on that.
As footsteps neared, he jumped the security fence and ran to a
cab.

“
Alpine,”
he shouted, “fast!”

The small
hybrid car didn’t move.

“
Let’s
go, let’s go,” Hart screamed.

“
I seem
to be having a problem. Hell, my battery’s gone dead.”

As Hart came
out, two bullets hit the car and struck the driver. The man slumped
to the wheel, his hand on his ignition.

From the car
park, he saw a bus in the distance. Racing ahead, he grabbed hold
of its door as it was about to close. He steadied himself and took
a back seat, staring at a plane that was taking off.

“
You’ve got to survive, you’ve got to survive,
Hart
,” a voice droned.
“
The pages
must be found
.” Getting
his bearings, he glanced at the blonde male seated next to him,
noting that the man looked a lot like him.

It wasn’t long
before Terminal 44 started coming into view. The bus slowed for a
while before coming to a halt. With a whoosh, the door opened.
Ahead of Hart, ten people stood waiting to exit.

Through the
window of the bus, he caught sight of Brown Eyes. He was leaning
against a post with a Walkie-Talkie in his hand. Next to him was a
beefy Caucasian with thin blonde hair. Hart could see the man
signalling to other members of the airport’s security team.

The first
passenger stepped out, then the second and third. His breathing
shortened as the ninth made his exit. It was the passenger with
long blonde hair, of Hart’s height and stature, the passenger who
was seated next to him.

As the man made
his exit, Brown Eyes moved towards him brandishing his automatic
Colt. The man ran with all his might, Hart’s long Gabi and loose
cotton shirt blowing in the air. The Caucasian chased too but the
young blonde was faster than them. He ran towards the car park and
disappeared behind a line of parked cars.

Hart exited the bus as shots fired in the distance. Inside
the terminal building, he heard an announcement:
VA Flight 208 to UK
boarding at Gate 6
. With his credit card in hand, he purchased a ticket and
headed up a flight of stairs. He pulled a red tam further down his
head and zipped up the front of a Slazenger jacket.

Chapter 42

Akhmim,
Egypt

2.20 PM.

It was
unusually cool when he hopped off the rail in Akhmim days later.
Instinct made him gaze around. It had nothing to do with fear for
nothing would halt his mission of finding the missing pages of the
Gospel of Mary Magdalene.

While remnants
of its ancient past were obvious, Akhmim was a modern city with
hotels, police patrols, and palm trees bordering fertile lands. The
old art of weaving had survived and residents still made a living
from it. At a market that sold cotton goods, he waited on Ali
Salaam.

“
Dr.
Hart?” Salaam called as he spotted Hart in the square. He
approached with a wide smile, adjusting his kufiyah. He was about
forty-nine but looked older, his skin parched by the hot sun. The
art dealer smoked a wooden pipe.

“
Salaam,
I’m glad to see you. Thanks for taking time to assist
me.”

“
Mr.
Hart, let’s begin by tracing some old steps. Follow me.”

Salaam walked
through an alley, passing through the courtyard of an ancient
mosque. He took a right turn and headed to a taxi hub.

“
Where’re
we going?” Hart asked.

“
To the
desert.”

They
hopped into the back of a Nissan and took a route northeast of the
city. The car move at a comfortable pace as Hart marvelled at the
ruins and the statues that paid homage to the God of
Fertility,
Min
. The many
tourists reminded him that Akhmim was one of Egypt’s more popular
sites. Forty minutes later, they came to halt. Ahead, on a desert
ridge, lay the Monastery of Martyrs enclosed by a wall of mud and
bricks. The monastery was surrounded by a huge necropolis bearing
the tombs of fourth century Akhmim governors.

“
Let’s go
in,” Salaam said.

Inside the
ancient monastery, the walls were decorated with paintings of
crosses, of the angels Gabriel and Michael, and many of the Virgin
Mary.

“
Who’s
he?” Hart asked as Salaam came to a stop at a painting of a dark
man.

“
Saint
Basil of Caesarea, an influential Christian of the fourth century.
He came from Turkey and was part of the Council of Nicaea. Basil
was the Cappadocian Father who founded Christian theology. He,
along with other fathers, fought hard against Greek philosophy. His
brother, Nyssa, was also a Cappadocian Father.”