The Venice Code (27 page)

“What’s this?” he asked, his mouth agape. Before them stood a hand chiseled wall, about ten feet across, eight feet high. To the left were what appeared to be the entire Latin alphabet carved into the wall, to the right the same thing. Each letter was squared out, and if Acton wasn’t mistaken, could be pushed in, almost like an ancient stone keyboard—with keys the size of your fists.

“The possessor of the two parts of the scroll, written by Brother Giuseppe himself, must enter the
decoded
first word from the left part of the scroll here”—he motioned to the letters on the left—“and the decoded
last
word from the right part of the scroll here.” He pointed to the set of letters on the right.

“Who built this?” asked Acton, approaching the left set of letters, running his hand over the carved letters.

“It was built shortly after Giuseppe’s death. His original wishes were to be buried as one of us, but we realized that the secret he guarded was too great to have left out in the open. This chamber was built to protect the secret when it became apparent we might be forced from our home during the crusades.”

“And just what happens if someone enters the wrong code?” asked Reading, ever the pessimist. Acton though had to admit it was an extremely relevant question.

The Abbot pointed up at the ceiling. “The chamber will be filled with sand.”

“Has anyone tried to enter a code?”

The Abbot shook his head. “No. You will be the first.”

Acton turned to Laura and Reading. “You two wait outside, just in case.”

“I’m not leaving you alone!” exclaimed Laura.

“Please, hon, if something goes wrong, I want you outside so you can figure out how to help me.” He turned to Reading. “You too. I have every intention of surviving this, and in the unlikely event something goes wrong, it’s you two who are going to pull my ass out of here.”

Laura frowned but nodded. “Okay. But if you get yourself killed, I’m stuffing your bloody body in one of those holes back there and forgetting about you.”

Acton grinned. “That’s the spirit!” His face suddenly became serious as he pulled a pad from his pocket along with a pencil. “How about we triple check the translation of the first and last words?” Laura nodded, immediately huddling with her fiancée as Reading examined the room, the doorway and played his flashlight over the ceiling. Acton glanced at him as he muttered, apparently not pleased with what he saw.

“Are you sure?” asked Laura. “There’s no second chances here.”

Acton nodded. “Both decoded words are actually words. They are both Latin, and they are spelled correctly.” He took a deep breath. “Yes, I’m sure.”

Laura nodded. “So am I.” She leaned in and gave him a kiss. “I love you.”

Acton smiled, closing his eyes and holding his forehead against hers. “I love you too,” he whispered. “But I’m going to be fine.” He straightened, handing her the originals of the scroll then pointing at the door. “Everyone out.”

Reading immediately headed for the door, holding his hand out for a reluctant Laura who finally broke away from Acton and stepped through the door. Reading followed, but not before looking at him. “Good luck, mate.”

Acton nodded his thanks, then turned to the Abbot. “You better leave too. There’s no telling what might happen.”

The Abbot smiled. “There is no danger here. You possess both halves of the scroll. I have no doubt you are the one prophesized to return. There is no way anyone could prevent me from remaining here and witnessing over seven hundred years of history come to an end.”

Acton frowned. “I’m not sure I like how that sounds.”

‘Come to an end.’ Let’s hope not, Abbot.

Acton stepped over to the set of carved letters on the left. He looked at the pad, the two words written out in block letters, clearly labeled ‘Left’ and ‘Right’.

To say he was jumpy would be an understatement. He reached for the first letter, his hand shaking.

“Have faith, my son. God will protect you,” said the old man gently.

“I’m entering the first letter now!” he called.

“Okay,” came Laura’s reply. “Good luck, I love you!”

“Love you too,” replied Acton, quietly, as he pushed on the first letter. It receded about two inches. He turned to the Abbot. “Is that a good sign?”

The old man shrugged. “I am but an observer.”

“Do you know the words that must be entered?”

The old man shook his head. “I have no idea. I have never seen the scroll. The two words were left with the Abbot at the time to be used to authenticate any scroll that might be used to try and gain access to Giuseppe’s body, but they instead chose to create this”—he motioned at the wall—“as a more permanent solution should the words be lost in time. As a result, we don’t know the words, as we don’t need to know. The device will determine whether or not you are worthy of entering.”

Acton frowned.

“What’s happening?” asked Laura.

He glanced back to see her head poking through the door. He waved her off. “I’ve entered the first letter. It receded into the wall about two inches. I’m entering the second letter now.” He pushed on the next letter, it too receding, the first letter pushing back out to its original position. “Second letter went in about two inches, the first letter came back out!”

“Is that good or bad?” asked Reading.

“Haven’t a clue. Nothing’s caved in on us yet, and the Abbot hasn’t started running, so I’m guessing good,” replied Acton with a smile at the Abbot who bowed slightly in response.

“Here goes. I’m entering the rest of the first word.”

He carefully pressed each of the remaining three letters, each receding, each of the previous returning to their former positions, except the last letter, which when pressed receded, but resulted in a clicking sound to their right.

Acton’s head shot back as he stared up at the ceiling, waiting for it to collapse.

Nothing.

“First word is in. I heard a clicking sound to my right. I’m guessing that means it has activated the second set of letters,” announced Acton as he stepped over to the second set. “I’m entering the second word now.”

“
Last
word!” yelled Reading.

“He knows!” hissed Laura. “Don’t confuse him!”

“Sorry,” mumbled Reading resulting in Acton grinning as he pictured his chastised friend.

He began entering the letters until he reached the last one. He sucked in a deep breath and looked at the Abbot, his expression inscrutable.
Does he know we’re about to die?
Acton looked over his shoulder at the entrance. He could see Laura crouched down just outside, looking at him.

“Here goes nothing,” he muttered. “I’m entering the last letter now!”

He pushed it and suddenly there was a loud rumble, the sounds of a mechanism clicking behind the wall then stone scraping on stone. Acton began to step back toward the entrance, the Abbot remaining in place, as Acton eyed the ceiling overhead.

Suddenly everything stopped.

“What’s happening?” asked Laura.

Acton looked about. “I don’t know. I don’t think anything changed!” He looked again, carefully, playing his flashlight over every square inch of the ceiling and the walls, and it wasn’t until he began to look down that he saw it. An opening in the floor between the two sets of letters. He had spent so much time looking up, he had missed it.

“There’s an opening here!” he exclaimed, rushing over to it and dropping to his knees. He heard Laura rush into the room behind him, Reading cursing as he followed. Acton turned to the Abbot. “What does this lead to?”

The old man shrugged. “That is for the prophesized one to find out.”

The hole had been created by a stone in the floor, perhaps four feet wide by five feet deep, dropping about three feet. Acton poked his head inside, shining his flashlight down what looked like a passageway about ten feet long.

“I think this leads to another chamber,” he said. He pulled off his satchel and handed it to Laura. “I’m going in.”

“So am I,” replied Laura, handing the satchel to Reading, then her own.

“Of course, hon, but wait until I make sure it’s safe.”

“Fine,” she said, her disappointment clear in her voice. He could understand her feelings, being the first to see something so old was almost irresistible—nobody wanted to be Buzz Aldrin when it came to these things. He dropped inside the hole and crouched down, half crawling, half sliding through the tunnel, his flashlight jumping about until he finally poked his head through the other side and gasped. It was a similarly sized chamber as the one he had just left, and in the middle was a large stone structure that he assumed was the sarcophagus holding the remains of Giuseppe.

Fascinating that a Venetian slave could become so revered among a group of monks that they would go to such lengths to preserve him!

Acton climbed to his feet, quickly examining his surroundings, then shouted back to Laura. “Okay, I think it’s safe!”

“Okay, I’m coming. A minute later Laura poked her head out from the tunnel and Acton helped her up from the hole. Directly behind her was the Abbot.

“Hugh, are you coming?” yelled Acton.

“Are you bloody barmy? There’s no way I’m climbing in there.”

“Okay, hold the fort, we shouldn’t be too long.”

“Riight.”

Acton winked at Laura who knew perfectly well they would quite often get lost in their work for hours, thinking it was only minutes. Acton returned to the center of the room, a large stone “box”, perhaps six feet by three feet on the top, about three feet deep, sat on a slightly raised platform. It was simple in design, nothing fancy carved on it, only a few markings chiseled at the head.

“Here lies Giuseppe Polo of Venice. Slave, friend and brother to Marco Polo. Died April 17th, 1281,” translated Laura. She couldn’t hide her excitement any better than Acton could. His heart was slamming in his chest. The loyal slave of Marco Polo, lost in the Holy Land for over seven hundred years, guarding a secret apparently entrusted to him by his long dead master. Acton could only imagine how a crystal skull so sought after by the Triarii could end up in the hands of Marco Polo.

“Shall we?” asked Laura, grabbing the corners at the far end.

Acton nodded, placing his hands at the other two. “Clockwise on three. One…two…three!” He pulled with all his might, Laura doing the same on the other end, and the large stone cover began to turn, slowly gaining momentum. Within seconds the cover was now perpendicular to the sarcophagus, revealing a very unexpected surprise.

“Where’s the body?” asked Laura.

Acton looked inside at the nearly empty vessel. All that it seemed to contain was a chiseled tablet where the head of Giuseppe should have been. Acton reached inside and removed the tablet, carefully placing it on the turned top.

“How about an update?” yelled Reading, clearly getting impatient.

“The body is gone!” replied Laura. “But there’s a stone tablet inside.”

Muttered curses could be heard, the odd word drifting down the tunnel suggesting Reading was of the opinion they had come all this way for nothing.

“I can’t make this out,” commented Laura. Acton looked at the letters on the tablet and it too made no sense.

“Another code?” he suggested to which the Abbot shook his head.

“Not a code, but a type of shorthand if you will, only understood by those of us in the order. Let me translate.” He cleared his throat and began to read as Acton whipped out his pad and pencil. “
As Abbot I take responsibility for my actions. Disturbing the remains of our beloved Giuseppe fills my heart with despair, however with the continued harassment by the Saracens, I have felt it necessary to move his body, and his charge. I hope one day he will be returned to slumber in peace. Forgive me.”

Acton leaned his elbows on the empty sarcophagus, grabbing his hair. “We’re too late.”

“About seven hundred years too late,” agreed an exasperated Laura. “What now?”

Acton pointed at the tablet. “Take a rubbing for the records, I guess, but unless anyone knows where this Abbot would have taken the remains, I think our journey is over.”

The old man cleared his throat.

“I just may know where he went.”

Approaching the Monastery of St. Gerasimos, West Bank, Israel

Present day, three days after the kidnapping

“What’s the hurry?” asked Mitch as their vehicle bounced over a very poor excuse for a road. Grant had given up his forlorn looks out the window, face pressed against the glass, instead now gripping the “Oh Jesus!” handle and praying they’d make it there in one piece.

“Our men who left with your friends haven’t been heard from! They might be in trouble!” shouted one of the Hamas terrorists from the passenger seat. “They might have run into a Jew”—the man paused to spit on the floor—“patrol.”

“Isn’t the West Bank controlled by Fatah?” asked Mitch.

“Fatah!” Another loogie. “They couldn’t control anything. That’s why we eliminated them in Gaza. Soon we will have enough men and arms here to do the same. Only then with a united, strong Palestinian leadership will we be able to negotiate with Israel, and once we’ve lulled them into a false sense of security, we will strike with our Arab brothers and push them into the sea!”

The dogma was impressive. The man was clearly insane, which most terrorists were, but to actually hear it spoken in person had Grant almost shaking his head.
How can you go through life filled with such hate?
It made no sense to him; he had to assume ignorance of history on their part. The UN had promised a Palestinian
and
a Jewish state and tried to implement that after World War II. The Jews had cooperated, the Palestinians hadn’t. Israel had never started a war—unless they knew they were about to be attacked—but they definitely finished them. Did Hamas hate Israel because they kept winning the wars Arabs foisted upon them? Or was it just because they were Jews and the Koran told them so? Or was it just because they were Jews?

Grant knew the Koran had a lot of hateful things in it. His father had made him read a translation of it years ago—“know your enemy”—and he had been shocked that much of the anti-Islam propaganda was true. What he had learned was the surahs, or chapters, were written in the order they were supposedly delivered to Mohammad, and if there was a contradiction between an earlier surah, and a later one, the later one superseded the earlier. This was where much of the confusion lay for Westerners being lectured by Muslims who defended their religion by quoting earlier surahs that sounded peaceful, but were actually overridden by later surahs that were much more intolerant.