Alex Lukeman - The Cup

When Haddad thought about the rapid collapse of Saddam's regime, he saw Allah's will at work. The Americans had been Allah's instrument. Without the defeat of Saddam and the destabilization of the region that followed, the caliphate could not have come into existence. Now the bright flame of Islam was spreading across the world.

Haddad was a key official in the murderous hierarchy of the Islamic State, in charge of foreign intelligence. He was marked for assassination by the coalition of infidels arrayed against the caliphate. It was a source of private pride. A CIA "capture or kill on sight" order was acknowledgment of his effectiveness.

He adjusted a pair of old-fashioned round glasses perching on his large nose. For the third time he read the report from his spy in the Swedish police force. He could hardly believe what he was seeing. He had read the Arthurian legends at the University and knew the story of the Grail.

A relic of Isa that is legend to the infidel. We had information about it in our hands and let it get away.

A tall, thin man with a tangled beard that reached halfway down his chest entered the room. Asif Nawabi was from Afghanistan, a veteran of the war with Russia. He had been trained by the CIA to kill Russians. Now he killed the enemies of the caliphate. A shrapnel scar crawled across his forehead like a red worm.

"Abu. I have heard from Sweden."

Haddad swiveled in his chair to face Nawabi. "Was the box recovered?"

"Yes, Abu. The police had it but it is ours now."

"These Americans who interfered at Hussein's. Why were they in Sweden?"

"The Swedish government requested a specialized team to advise them. They are a counterterrorism unit operating under the American president's orders. I have their dossiers."

Nawabi placed a folder on Haddad's desk. Haddad opened it and began reading. His subordinate waited, used to Haddad's ways of working. After a few minutes, Haddad looked up.

He tapped the photograph of Selena. "This woman. She translated the scrolls."

"Yes."

Haddad slammed his fist down on the desk. "That box should never have left the caliphate."

"We didn't know the box was important, then. The man who sent it with the rest of the artifacts has been executed."

"Yes, but the damage is done."

"Does it really matter, Abu? The cup disappeared two thousand years ago."

"It matters to the unbelievers. It matters to us. It is a relic of the prophet Isa."

"The scrolls prove it existed," Nawabi said, "but they don't say anything about where it was taken."

"Tell me, Asif, what would you do if you discovered information about a holy relic of the Prophet, praise be upon him? A relic enshrined in myth?"

"I would be joyous to learn of its existence."

"What else?"

"If I knew where it was, I would look for it."

"Exactly. That is what we are going to do. Look for this object so beloved by the Christians. And that is what they will do."

"But we don't know where it is or if it still exists."

Haddad took off his glasses and rubbed the bridge of his nose. He carefully placed them back and looked up at Nawabi.

"That is true, we don't. It may not be possible to find it. But if it is, the Americans will try."

"What about the Swedes?"

"The Swedes!" Haddad's voice dripped with contempt. "No, it will be the Americans. If anyone can find it, it will be them."

"What are your instructions, Abu?"

"They will search for the relic. We will follow them. Let them do the work. If they find it we will kill them and take it."

"As you wish, Abu. And if they do not find it?"

"We will kill them anyway. Hussein was a friend of mine."

A foul smell floated into the room from the river and Haddad wrinkled his nose. Bloated bodies filled with the gases of decay floated down from Aleppo every day. Sometimes a body would come up against debris and burst open.

"Assign your team. Keep me informed."

It was a dismissal.

"At once, Abu." Nawabi left the room.

Haddad thought about the Christians and how they distorted everything with their false religion. The cup that caught the blood of Christ was an important relic, but not for the reasons they thought. Christ was called Isa in Islam, the last prophet before Mohammed. When he reappeared, it would signal the coming of the Mahdi.

The cup would be a powerful propaganda tool if it could be found. It would drive the Christians into a frenzy if they knew ISIS had recovered it. It would bring thousands of new recruits to the black flag of the caliphate. In the end, it didn't matter whether the it was found or not. The ultimate outcome was going to be the same.

The Day of Reckoning and the final battle were coming soon.

The monastery of Panagia Soumela was five kilometers out of Kastania, a pleasant drive from the hotel. The area around the church had been turned into a park with a large parking area for tourists and pilgrims.

The building was cruciform in the Greek Orthodox fashion, the walls of brown and white stone, the curved roofs of red tile. Three soaring archways fronted the church. Smaller archways led to secondary entrances on each side. A massive round tower with long, narrow windows rose over the building and dominated the setting.

Only a few cars were parked in the extensive lot outside. The church was a popular pilgrimage point but it was a weekday and late in the season. The chill of coming winter hung in the mountain air.

Nick dropped money in a donation box as they entered.

Lamont said, "Man, look at this place."

His voice echoed in the cavernous building. A dozen people, tourists or worshipers, wandered about the church.

"Someone spent a lot of money and went to a lot of trouble to build this," Selena said. "You'd expect to see a church like this in a major city with a big congregation, not a little mountain town. It's more like a cathedral than a church."

Ronnie looked up. "How high do you think that ceiling is?"

"I don't know," Nick said. "A hundred feet?"

The ceiling was groined in medieval style, painted with religious figures and crosses. Rows of slatted wooden chairs faced the main altar. A wooden railing separated the public area from the altar. Behind the altar was an elaborate carved backdrop of dark wood, framing rows of painted icons. An enormous chandelier hung over the chairs. The air smelled of incense.

"Where's the icon that causes miracles?" Lamont asked.

Selena pointed at a separate alcove off to the side of the main room. "I think that's it."

They walked over and stood in front of it.

The icon was recessed inside an elaborate housing and lit on both sides. A curtain was pulled back to the sides of the painting. A chain stretched between brass posts to keep people from getting too close. A short pillar with a vase holding fresh flowers stood on each side of the painting. Beyond them, two enormous brass stands reached toward the ceiling, each with three tall columns mounted to hold candles. Four icons of saints hung on the wall behind. A crystal chandelier blazed with light overhead.

Ronnie peered at the ancient painting. "Pretty hard to see what it's supposed to be."

"You can just make out the shape of the Virgin Mary and the infant Jesus," Selena said. "Don't forget, this is supposed to be two thousand years old. It's had time to fade."

"Okay," Lamont said. "We've seen the icon. Now what?"

Nick pointed at a priest walking across the room.

"That priest looks old enough to be in charge. Selena, go talk to him. Get him talking about how the icon was hidden and recovered. We have to start somewhere."

She left them standing near the alcove with the miraculous icon, went over to the priest and greeted him. Soon they were in an animated conversation.